The Invitational Year
by Demand Truth
Summary: Alfred is an awkward dork, despite the fact his dad is President. Arthur is a member of British royalty, and he's a perfectionist loner. Both boys are given an invitation to attend the prestigious World Academy and, naturally, they're roomies. USUK
1. The Beginning

**The Invitational Year**

Helen Jones accepted the armload of mail from the maid with a distracted air as she power-walked down a long hallway in the white house. Her designer heels stabbed the carpet with each determined step, and her immaculate white business suit competed with her sparkling teeth to see which could be more blinding. A cell phone accessory blinked rapidly against her ear, nestled in the perfectly sculpted waves of blonde hair, indicating another incoming call. She began to flick through the mail as she continued her current conversation.

"That will cover the advertising but we haven't even touched on franchising fees—just one second, daddy, Richard is calling," Helen smoothly switched calls with a quick button press and her husband's voice came through her ear piece.

"_Suck my dick, Petey—the Lakers are taking me to the bank! Did you _see_ the heat Fisher was bringing in that last quarter?"_

"Richard, this isn't Peter. You called your wife. Aren't you supposed to be entertaining King Abdullah II of Jordan right about now? Now's not the time to be calling your buddies to trash talk about baseball."

"_Damn speed dial…and its basketball, Helen. NBA Finals? Ring a bell? And I _am_ doing my job. King What's-his-Face had to go to the bathroom. The guy's been gone for forever—probably plugging up the toilet. Didja get the mail yet?" _

"I'm glancing through it now. Nothing too pressing…wait…what?"

"_Helen?" _the President inquired as his wife went strangely silent. Deciding the King of Jordan wasn't going to return anytime soon, President Jones poked his head out of the Oval Office and glanced down the hallway to see his beautiful wife staring at their mail with a rather shocked expression.

"Oh no—what's Al done now?" Richard commented warily. Hearing her husband's voice both in person and on the phone caused Helen to wince and tug the wireless accessory off her ear.

"He's gotten…but surely this _can't_ be…"

"Spit it out already, Helen. What is it?" Richard asked. Helen's eyes met her husband's impatient gaze and for the first time in a long, long time, Helen Jones was struck speechless.

"It's…it's…"

Richard met her half way and snatched the heavy packet from her hands, peering curiously at the sender.

"Jesus Christ—is this what I _think_ it is?"

"It just can't be. They must be soliciting donations."

"Then it would be addressed to us—not to Al," Richard replied sensibly.

Just then, a sharply dressed member of the CIA came power walking down the hallway.

"Sir, there's been an incident with King Abdullah. It involves your son, the cat, a tablecloth, and an utterly embarrassing breach of social etiquette."

Richard and Helen met each others' gaze warily.

"I'll smooth it over—you deal with Alfred," Helen said. Richard pouted.

"You know I can't keep my temper when he pulls stupid crap like this, Helen. I'll talk to What's-his-Face and _you_ handle Al."

"You don't even know his goddamned title! I've got PR, you take parenting!" Helen replied, forcefully pushing her armload of mail into Richard's chest.

"Damn it," Richard grunted in annoyance, as he stormed back into the Oval Office. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Send the kid in."

"Err…sir, he's already here," the CIA agent said with a slight cough. Emerging from behind the burly CIA agent, Alfred Jones didn't even meet his parents' sheepish gazes. He held a fat, fluffy cat in his arms, a nerf-gun, and wore nothing except a red table cloth and his superman boxers. He was fifteen, nearly sixteen, but he looked like a scrawny, half-starved twelve-year-old. His posture was defeated, his face was a pizza of acne and sunburn, and his blond, oily hair was forever slipping into his eyes. He was Alfred F. Jones—only son of the President of the United States, total dork, and loser of legendary repute.

Richard Jones took one look at his son and sent a half-silent prayer to God for patience.

"I didn't know he was in the bathroom—I was just chasing after Ellie. I didn't mean to hit him with my darts or—"

The prayer went unanswered. Richard pointed angrily towards the Oval Office. Alfred slouched, released a tormented sigh, and dragged his feet all the way into the office. Helen was satisfied that Alfred would be handled, so the First Lady took off at a brisk clip with the CIA officer to apologize to the traumatized dignitary.

Once inside his father's office, Alfred released Ellie and dropped into a chair with appalling posture. He was a sharp contrast to his father. Richard Jones was a towering six-foot-something former star quarterback, capable of charming just about anyone, perfectly tanned year round, and equipped with a bleached white smile and a full head of thick blond hair. He'd effortlessly ascended the political ladder until he'd been voted into the White House, where he had one of the highest presidential approval ratings in history. His wife, Helen Jones, was a former model turned concert pianist, who also just happened to be the heiress and future C.E.O. for one of the most popular hotel chains in America. Between the two of them, Alfred should have had looks, charm, brains and talent to spare, but something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"Son, we don't live in our home alone now. This place is full of people and you can't just –"

"I _know_, Dad. I know better than anyone that we aren't home anymore."

"Alfred, don't try to pull the guilt card. I've been elected President of the goddamned United States…and you're upset because you can't play Pokemon cards with your strange little friends anymore. Jesus, son, they weren't even your friends! They regularly stole your money and used you to do their dirty work. Most kids would die for the chance to live in a house like this, but not you. All you care about is your video games and your comic books! You haven't pulled anything higher than a D since the fourth grade! What am I supposed to do with that, son? You tell me, because your mother and I are at the end of the rope here."

A rather elegant woman came striding into the office at a fast clip. Upon seeing the scene, she stopped and patted her hair back into place, tidying her clothes, which were already perfect.

"What's he done now?" the President asked, crumpling the invitation in his hand slightly. The head of housekeeping staff smiled politely at the President.

"Maria simply needs her tablecloth back. It was a gift from the Spanish ambassador."

"Say no more. Alfred. Cape off. _Now_."

Alfred untied the vivid red material from around his neck and handed it to the housekeeper embarrassedly, who looked mildly horrified to see the condition of the lace border and sneered unpleasantly at Alfred.

"I will excuse myself. I apologize for the interruption," the housekeeper said, leaving just as briskly as she had come.

Richard rubbed his hands over his face in a way that was both exhausted and exasperated. His collegiate football championship ring glittered dully on his hand, overpowering the shine of his wedding band. With a resigned air, he opened the thick packet from the prestigious World Academy and read in silence while Alfred waited and chewed nervously on his bottom lip. His father snorted in disbelief.

"Know what this is, Al?" he asked. Alfred glanced up briefly, but then his blue eyes sunk back to the carpet.

"No, sir."

"It's an invitation to World Academy…for _you_."

"You mean that stuffy boarding school where I got beat up my first week here?"

"You did not get _beaten up_, Son. The boys were just playing around, but you're so damned _sensitive_ about everything," his father replied. Contrary to what his father claimed, Alfred definitely had gotten beat up. He'd snuck out of the White House in all the bustle of moving in, trying to find his way to the local comic book store, and bumped into a burly World Academy student. The only reason he and his buddies hadn't beaten Alfred to a total pulp was that a journalist showed up. Somehow, the boys names had managed to stay out of the article that ran front page, but Alfred's bloody lip and black eye had been all over the papers.

"That _stuffy_ looking boarding school is the most prestigious school in the world, Alfred. I should be proud of this invitation, but I'm _not _proud. You didn't earn this invitation, Alfred. They've only sent this to you because of who I am," Richard said rather heartlessly as he rounded the desk. Alfred winced from the bitter truth.

"So I don't have to go?" Alfred asked hopefully. Looming over his scrawny son, the President slapped the invitation roughly against Alfred's chest.

"Oh, you're going, alright. Nobody has ever refused an invitation to World Academy, and our family isn't about to be the first, especially because everyone would know _why_ we're refusing—that we're afraid to let you out in public. You'll go, and you're going to start fresh, Alfred. You're going to make good grades. You're going to play sports. You're going to make influential friends. I should have done this a long time ago, but starting next year, there will be _no_ comic books, _no_ video games, _no _dolls—"

"Action figures," Alfred grumbled under his breath, to no avail.

"And _no_ _more_ of this super hero nonsense!" his father finished.

The door to the Oval Office opened once more, and this time Helen entered. She took the invitation from Alfred's hands and scanned it, reaching her own conclusions.

"You won't be attending the campus here in Washington until your second year. Your first year of study would be in London. Maybe it's a good thing that you'll be out of the country—it will be harder for the media to get at you. Out of sight, out of mind as the saying goes," the First Lady said.

"You make a good point, Helen. We should have thought about an overseas boarding school for him months ago," the President said, beginning to warm up to the idea. Leaving his parents to talk excitedly about getting him out of their perfectly sculpted hair, Alfred slunk out of the room with his cat on his heels. Once safely out of ear-shot, he scooped the orange tabby up in his arms, and let a few tears fall into his only friend's fur.

"They're right, ya know. I'm not a hero…I'm just a loser. I've gotta try really hard at this new school, Ellie. I've gotta be someone different…someone they're proud to call their son."

His cat gave him a loving nuzzle, and he let her down gently. He entered his bedroom (literally covered with nerdy nick-knacks and posters) and sighed. At least in the privacy of his own bedroom, he could be himself. He'd be the son his parents wanted out in the world, but in his sanctuary, he could be whoever he wanted. After such a depressing morning, all he wanted was to be a level 72 knight in the online realm of Alishadu.

* * *

Prince Arthur, sixth in line to the British throne, skimmed through his invitation letter to World Academy with a bored air for the millionth time. His parents had been pleased, but they had been expecting the invitation for years. All royals attended World Academy. It was just the natural order of things. Besides, unlike some of his line, Arthur likely would have been invited even if he hadn't been a royal. He excelled in all subjects and never made less than perfect grades. He was extremely talented with both a tennis racquet and with a foil, his piano teacher often asked _him_ for tips on how to play certain passages, and at the mere age of fifteen, a book of his short-stories had already been published.

There was very little Arthur couldn't do, with the sole exception of cooking, which didn't exactly matter since he was a prince and had people to cook for him. Still, Arthur was a perfectionist, and it irked him to do poorly at something, so cooking had become something of a hobby, even though he never managed to improve.

Arthur flipped another page in the history book he was reading on Roman influence in his country and wondered idly what his roommate would be like. As long as he wasn't paired up with Francis Bonnefoy, the young Marquis of Angoumois, he'd have no complaints.

Well, maybe he'd have a _few_. Arthur didn't exactly get along well with his peers. Though he kept his head down and stayed out of the media, Arthur had a very short fuse. He disliked people who were loud, messy, French, uncultured, good-at-cooking, French, tall, ignorant, overly-friendly, or French. As long as his roommate was none of those things, then he didn't foresee any problems. Plus, his first year would be spent studying at the London campus, so if his roommate was too unbearably obnoxious, he could always come home to escape him.

He closed his book. It was nearly time for him to depart for his new school, and he still had to pack his baggage. It wouldn't be a difficult task—his room was nearly devoid of anything that might have given a clue to Arthur's personality, perhaps with the exception of all the books.

A short hour later, Arthur had all his personal things neatly packed in three rolling suitcases. Only one of these suitcases contained his actual clothing. The other two were the books that he could not bear to be without for more than a week at a time.

The butler took his baggage and whisked it away downstairs. His mother gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and reminded him to work hard. His father shook his hand. If the paparazzi hadn't been so thick on the perimeter of their estate, trying to snap pictures of him departing, it would have been an utterly quiet affair. Under the deluge of hot, summer rain, Prince Arthur was whisked away to World Academy and the future that awaited him there.

* * *

**A/N: **As promised, I'm going to start reposting these chapters and correcting errors as I go. I am altering content, though not to the point that major events in the plot change. All of this editing will hopefully lead up to a new chapter…though I'm still ironing out a lot of issues with that and I'm unsure how long revisions will take.


	2. A Rocky Start

**Chapter 2**

Alfred's mother had gone through his luggage four times before she deemed it acceptable. He'd been left with drab sweater vests and khaki slacks, crisp blue blazers and white dress shirts. Even his boxers were a depressing shade of brown.

"You're not a child anymore, Alfred. You shouldn't wear super hero T-shirts and ratty jeans," she fussed at him. Alfred watched with mournful eyes as his Hulk tie was tossed into the waste bin. He'd thought giving up all his precious stuff would be bearable, considering he knew it would make his mother happy, but each thing his mother removed from his luggage broke his heart a little. His mother shot him a rare, pitying look.

"You understand why I'm doing this, right Alfred? You get teased so much. Doesn't it hurt your feelings when the other kids make fun of your clothes? If you were poor and had nothing else, then it would be one thing, but that's not the case at all. You may not have hit your growth spurt yet, or grown into your forehead, but you could have the best money can buy. You could _look_ good even if you don't look good…do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Alfred was a little loud and a bit of a daydreamer at school, but he wasn't stupid. It was the same message his parents had always given him: people would like him more if he was different. It hurt, but Alfred knew his parents only wanted him to be admired and successful like they were. He tried to plaster on a brave smile as his mother found the Transformer hidden in the secret pocket of his luggage and tossed it on top of the Hulk tie. He didn't even wince as the expensive collector's toy smacked against the trash can.

"I basically have to repack for you. I really didn't have time in my schedule for this today, Alfred. It's already four—did you put on your medicine?"

Knowing a losing battle before it even started, Alfred dragged his feet towards the attached bathroom and the brave smile crumbled. Four times daily he was supposed to march through an arsenal of skin-care products recommended by his mother's dermatologist. The god-awful stuff burned like fire, but if he didn't put it on his mother would know since his face got really oily.

"I'm going, Mom."

"And put on some deodorant while you're in there. I can smell you from here, Alfred. It's just gross…how you ever expect to get a girlfriend is beyond me."

Alfred glanced at his mother resignedly and turned on his bathroom light, eyeing his shiny, pimply face. He would get a girlfriend this year, too. She'd have to be the hottest girl in school— someone that would really impress his parents. Maybe he'd get a French girlfriend. His mother would love that. She was always going on and on about how refined the French ambassador's daughter was whenever they were in town, and hinting at Alfred to make a move even though the girl was at least five years older than him. She even made wistful suggestions that he should marry someone with whom his mother could practice her fluent French on, since Alfred could barely speak English and his father only knew enough Spanish to appeal to the Hispanic voting demographic.

"I'll put on extra deodorant, Mom. Three times a day," Alfred reassured dutifully.

"And your skin medicine four times daily, plus use the cocoa butter before bed."

"But it makes me all slippery…"

"It's _crucial_ for beautiful skin, Alfred. I wasn't able to stay in the modeling business as long as I did because I neglected simple skin care. You know it's only because—"

"Because you love me. I _know_, mom. Trust me, I want my face to stop oozing as much as you do."

His mother flashed him one of her smiles that never quite reached her eyes as she folded up some new, navy boxers.

"I was going to say I only do it because you're so photographed these days, and while my contacts with the reputable magazines can ensure that your photos are edited on big covers, I can't do anything for the tabloids…but I also love you, of course."

"Of course," Alfred replied a little wryly, leaning against his bathroom doorframe with his face sudsy and burning.

"Now, how will you greet your new roommate?"

Alfred mentally groaned at the reminder. As if it wasn't bad enough he was stuck going to some snobby, ultra-elite high school in a foreign country, his roommate was royalty. Still, Alfred had weathered enough bad situations to know he wasn't a quitter, or one to be easily intimidated.

"The first time I meet him I call him 'Your Royal Grace Prince What's-His-Face'."

"Not funny, Alfred," his mother replied sharply. Alfred slumped a bit and stretched his memory.

"Andrew?"

"_Arthur_. You would say, 'I'm glad we're going to be rooming together, Prince Arthur, Your Royal Highness.' It's _not_ that difficult to remember, Alfred."

"You really think he wants me to call him all that?"

"Alfred, it shows that you're cultured and you respect the crucial role his family has played in the development of the United Kingdom. America has a special relationship with the U.K., which we don't have with anyone else. If you somehow manage to screw that up…"

"I'll remember what to say, Mom. I promise I won't let you down. I'll write it on my hand if I have to. Can I wash this off now? My skin is melting."

"So dramatic! Yes, wash it off, and hurry up about it. We should have been at the airport a half-hour ago."

Gratefully, Alfred scrubbed the suds off his face. He started to pick at a spot on his chin, but his mother's voice rang out into the bathroom.

"_Don't_ pop them!"

Comically, Alfred's head dropped in dismay. His mother couldn't even _see_ him, and yet she knew his bad habits so well. It was like she had radar for whenever he was screwing up.

Dragging his feet, Alfred returned to his beloved bedroom, which had been stripped of a large portion of the posters and toys. Only things that Alfred had begged on hands and knees for had been allowed to remain. His soft Superman sheets still adorned the king size bed, and the autographed bust of Batman was still in its case on the bookshelf. His comic books had been boxed up and moved to storage (until Alfred could appreciate them without becoming obsessed) and his toys had been mostly donated to charity. His mother wanted to toss them out, but Alfred had bargained for giving them to less fortunate children. Praising him for having a "rare moment of intelligence," they'd had the whole thing filmed as a PR stunt.

Alfred had only wanted his beloved collections to go to kids that would at least enjoy them, and he'd gotten a little choked up watching one little boy hug his old Superman action figure, but the headlines had blared _**ALFRED THROWS A FIT - PARENTS DONATE HIS TOYS TO CHARITY. **_

Sometimes, Alfred felt like he never caught a break.

He said a tearful goodbye to his beloved pet, and left her napping on his pillow.

"I really wish you could come. I'm gonna miss you so much, girl. I'm gonna make a lot of friends, but you'll always be my best friend ever, so don't worry. I'll send you lots of postcards!"

"It's a _cat_, Alfred. Not a real friend. Now let's _go_ before Air Force One leaves without us."

Wiping away his tears, Alfred hurried down the stairs after his mother, giving his only friend in the world one last pitiful glance before he did.

* * *

Alfred was exhausted by the time he reached the school. An upperclassman had shown him to his room, where he entered without thinking. He'd never had a roommate before, and so didn't give a thought to who might be already occupying the space.

Someone was, in fact, occupying the space. Said someone had just removed his shirt to reveal a pale, unblemished back, and a little sliver of his briefs.

"Err, oops! I didn't think you'd be in here already, uh, your Lord Graceship Prince…person."

The young man turned with a light blush on his cheekbones and a formidable glare for one so young. The prince hastily pulled on his shirt.

"It is customarily considered polite etiquette to _knock_ before one barges into a room," Arthur chided. Still standing a bit dumbly in the doorway, Alfred awkwardly pulled all his luggage inside (managing to make the most god-awful racket in the process) and then proceeded to trip over his own rolling suitcase. A part of him hoped his new roommate would take pity on him and help him up—show anything but frosty disdain—but he was to be disappointed.

"I merely requested you be polite. There's no need to grovel at my feet," the haughty prince quipped sarcastically. Wincing in pain, Alfred untangled his feet from his luggage (they were forever tripping him up, huge and seemingly four sizes too big for his body) and used the nearby table to gain his footing. Of course, Alfred leaned on it wrong and it wobbled, and the elegant vase that had been sitting atop the marble tabletop crashed to the floor, soaking the thick, beige carpet with smelly water.

"Shit!" Alfred cursed as he attempted to collect the fragments and will them back into vase form with the power of desperation. The attempt failed.

"Well…I'm just going to step into the hallway and see about getting myself a new roommate. Do excuse me, will you? It really has been a pleasure." The sarcasm dripped off the boy's voice just as the water dripped from the shards of the ruined vase. True to his word, the royal left (stepping delicately and smoothly over Alfred's mess), leaving Alfred with the impression that he hadn't made a very good one.

Alfred cursed again under his breath.

'_No! I'm not letting it happen all over again here! I'm going to make a damn friend if it kills me!'_ With this thought, Alfred propelled himself out of the room and after his roommate, managing to catch him by the hand. Unbeknownst to Alfred, a small group of their year mates paused in the hallway to see what all the commotion was about.

"Wait! You've got to listen to me! My name is Alfred F. Jones, and even if you think I'm a total weirdo, you're going to love me, so you can just get used to it right now!"

For a long moment, there was stunned silence in the hallway. Arthur stood, his emerald green eyes wide in alarm, half-pinned against the wall by his crazy, dripping wet American roommate, who held a fistful of his shirt prisoner as well as his hand. Arthur's alarmed expression was mirrored in Alfred's eyes, who had just realized that he'd said "love" instead of "like."

A classmate with a thick French accent finally quipped, "Well, Your Royal Highness…it seems as if your new roommate is consumed with the desire to be your _copain_. Perhaps because you are so short, he mistook you for a woman, no?"

The hallway erupted in laughter, and the crowd parted to reveal an immaculately dressed young Frenchman, tall and well muscled, with flowing blonde hair and a cruel expression of glee. At the sight of his long-time rival, Arthur roughly shoved the American away, clenching his fists and turning his impressive glare to 'vaporize-with-burning-hatred' mode.

Not at all phased, the French boy merely sauntered into a nearby room and laughed at the furious glaring of the short, British royal, who had not been able to think of a come-back due to being so enraged at the mere sight of Francis Bonnefoy. The crowd of onlookers dispersed some-what, muttering things like "That's the U.S. President's kid, right? He's as weird as the papers say" and "So are those two gay, or something?"

Slowly, with furious calm, Arthur re-entered their room and _slammed_ the door. Even from half-way down the hall, Alfred could hear the lock slide firmly into place. Alfred stumbled back against the hallway wall and banged his head a few times for good measure. The water from the vase smeared away the tiny words he'd meant to say that had been printed on his hand: _I'm really glad we're going to be roommates, Your Royal Highness._

Feeling defeated, Alfred slid to the floor, head in his arms. A quiet voice interrupted his solo pity party.

"For what it's worth, I know you didn't mean it to come out the way it did. Sometimes I get a little tongue-tied, too."

Alfred looked up hopefully, trying not to sniffle, to see a boy who looked remarkably similar to himself. They probably could have passed as brothers, though the other boy had much longer hair and a softer look about his eyes and lips. Everything about him radiated gentleness. He extended a hand to Alfred, who took it gratefully, not quite daring to hope he might get a second chance at making a friend.

"I'm Matthew, from Canada. You're Alfred Jones, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks for…not thinking I'm gay freak?" Alfred finished awkwardly, chuckling at his own horrible situation. Quite suddenly, however, the other boy flinched and his kind expression turned hurt.

"Well, if that's how you feel about gay p-people, next time I won't help you. I'd h-heard Americans were closed-minded, but it's not very n-nice to call people freaks, you know." The quiet boy disappeared into his room almost as if he'd never been there at all, and Alfred marveled at his ability to mess up every social interaction he ever encountered.

This was _exactly_ the reason he preferred living in the world of comic books. He never pissed anyone off in his fantasy world.

'_Yeah,'_ he thought sadly, _'And you don't have any friends there either. New school, new city, same old Alfred.' _

With a sigh, Alfred trudged back to his door and slumped against it, exhausted from the ridiculously long plane ride, his nerves frayed and his confidence shattered, hoping that his roommate took pity at some point and let him back inside.

* * *

Prince Arthur did let Alfred back inside a few hours later, though he seemed less than pleased about it. He'd merely opened the door with harsh swiftness, causing Alfred to fall inelegantly into the room, since he'd been sleeping against the door. It was nearly nightfall, and Arthur had already turned out the lights, so Alfred was forced to rummage through his bland clothing in near total darkness. He went into the bathroom to change, wash his face, and brush his teeth, and when he emerged, the prince was waiting in the doorway looking amazingly intimidating for such a short kid.

"If you touch me in my sleep, I'll have you expelled. Am I _perfectly_ clear?"

"I'm not—I don't—I only meant…"

"A simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."

"I won't touch you," Alfred said resignedly. Arthur nodded in a satisfied sort of way and then added an afterthought.

"And while we're on the subject, do not speak to me any more than necessary, do not make contact with me outside of this room for any reason, _never _touch my things, don't even _think_ about selling photos of me to the paparazzi, and give up your ridiculous quest to make me your friend, because I'll tell _you_ right now—it's _not_ happening. Am I still speaking slowly enough for you?"

"You're kind of an angry little guy, aren't you?" Alfred asked with a yawn, so tired at that point that he'd lost what little sense of self-preservation he'd normally possessed. The punch flew hard and seemingly from nowhere. One minute, Alfred's mouth was hanging open in a massive yawn, and a second later, his jaw was cracked to the side from the blow of a tiny, angry fist.

"OWWW!" Alfred roared, cradling his injured jaw. "What the _hell_?"

"Oh, and I forgot to mention it, but the proper address is 'Your Royal Highness, Prince Arthur.' Why don't you practice that in a mirror a few times so that the next time you want your bloody jaw ripped off, you'll at least call me by the correct title before I oblige you."

Afraid to speak anymore (and not quite sure he was even able) Alfred stumbled clumsily to his bed and crawled in, pulling the covers meekly over his aching head. He'd survived day one of school and he'd only gotten hit once. Trying to stay optimistic, Alfred thought to himself, _'Hey, at least that's a new record.' _


	3. The Hero Appears

**Chapter 3**

Matthew wasn't sure how he always ended up in these types of situations. Well, he knew _why_—anyone that met him could tell instantly that he was different—but he didn't understand why everyone had to be so damned mean about it.

At his last school, he'd been invisible for years. Even though his parents were extremely wealthy, and he made excellent grades, he was somehow always overlooked. His teachers forgot his name, his peers didn't notice him, and nothing about him was special. Then, as he'd gotten older, the other boys got a little rougher. They didn't carry around stuffed animals anymore. They liked to tumble and wrestle in the dirt, and they learned how to play sports. They got dirty, and they got mean.

But Matthew never did. The girls in his year took a liking to him, because his hair was almost as long as theirs and he'd let them style it however they pleased. They didn't tease him for still carrying around his favorite teddy bear, and they liked reading and drawing and playing games of pretend. So Matthew became different. At times, even the girls excluded him, when they wanted to whisper about boys or share secrets, but the damage had already been done. The other boys labeled him as gay before Matthew even had a chance to figure it out on his own, or understand what the word even meant.

Now, years later, he was fairly certain they had been right, but as he'd never had his first kiss, he couldn't say for sure. He wanted to kiss a boy, though. He wanted to kiss his new roommate; the absolutely gorgeous boy that dressed so carefully, and actually spent time styling his hair, and spoke French in such a sophisticated way that Matthew could have listened to him speak all day. But just like the boys back home, Francis seemed to see right through him. He had acknowledged him, of course. He introduced himself with his amazing accent, and he even flashed him a gorgeous smile when he heard Matthew stutter out some weak French, pleased that he wouldn't have to speak English with his new roommate. But then the moment was over. The French boy went about unpacking, and calling various people on his cell phone, and then went to bed early.

Even Matthew's attempts to comfort the awkward American boy had blown up in his face. He'd never thought a kid that was as picked on and bullied as Alfred Jones would give the same treatment to someone else. Matthew had so hoped that he would be the one person in their year that might understand what it meant to be different, but he supposed it wasn't meant to be.

As he made his way through his first day of classes, it was exactly what he expected. As soon as he spoke, or moved, or even brushed his hair away from his face, the other boys _knew_…and they pushed him out. Even when the discussion had briefly turned to hockey in first period, which was practically Canada's national sport, they didn't seek his opinion on any of the teams back home.

A few girls gave him curious, encouraging looks, but Matthew wasn't interested. He knew he could befriend girls. He knew they were more mature and more tolerant in general than boys his own age, but was it so wrong to want just _one_ guy friend?

Thoughts like that plagued him all day, as class after class he was overlooked by the random groups of boys that were knitting themselves into cliques. The athletic ones, the funny ones, even the nerdy ones didn't want to include him—they already took enough crap. The likely knew befriending him would only welcome more.

With a gentle sigh, Matthew left the dinner hall and crossed the nearly empty courtyard. The weather was not very pretty in London, and even though it had rained all morning, the stormy clouds were threatening to pour again.

"Hey, freshman! Come over here," a deep voice called. Startled, Matthew glanced up. A tall, muscular upperclassman was eyeing him like he was a sack of meat. It was frightening, and Matthew contemplated ducking his head down and just ignoring him.

But some stupid part of him wondered if maybe, just maybe, these boys were like him—maybe they wanted to befriend him. Ignoring his good sense, Matthew approached, hesitant as a baby deer. The tall upperclassman separated from his grinning friends and took a slow walk around Matthew, eyeing him up and down. He flicked the nose on the stuffed bear that doubled as Matthew's backpack. Matthew knew he'd get made fun of for using his old, elementary school book bag, but he didn't care. He liked it.

"You got a boyfriend, teddy bear?" the dangerous looking boy asked, invading Matthew's personal space. A few other underclassman had congregated outside the dinner hall, watching but not doing anything to intervene. Matthew turned his face away in distaste, flinching when the upperclassman ran his fingers down his bare arm.

"J-just let me go. I w-won't say anything about this," Matthew said shakily. The coarse, older boy was gripping his arm harshly now, whispering nasty phrases in his ear that made him want to cry.

Suddenly, a loud voice interrupted the scene playing out.

"HEY! Yeah! I'm talking to you! Get your grubby hands off, because it just so happens that he DOES have a boyfriend! A really badass one! And he'll…he'll…he'll totally beat you guys up!"

Matthew glanced up in surprise, startled to see none other than Alfred Jones coming to his rescue. He was skinny, and everything about him screamed loser, but his blue eyes were burning with something Matthew couldn't easily describe. The look in his eyes suddenly made Matthew feel like it was going to be okay, however unlikely that seemed.

The older boy released him, eyeing up his new victim. Matthew scurried backwards, slipping a bit on the wet pavement. He didn't need to worry though, because Alfred had boldly put himself between Matthew and his attacker. He was rail thin, but he was tall—he nearly matched the upperclassman in height, though he was definitely less intimidating. The older boy growled in annoyance at his show of courage and poked him hard in the chest.

"Oh yeah? And where's this big, bad boyfriend?"

"Err…you're looking at him! So…so back off!" Alfred pushed the taller boy with arms that resembled limp spaghetti noodles. Then he flinched, as if knowing what was coming. The upperclassman leveled him with a hard blow to his nose which made the blood start flowing. The upperclassman laughed, and his friends joined him to sneer down at Alfred.

"You stupid-ass American. You think you're a hero? Wanna save your cute little girlfriend? Well being the President's son doesn't mean _shit_ here. Get in my way and I'll tear you up," the older boy threatened. Matthew began to pray that a professor would come, or someone would go for help at least, but it looked like nobody had even moved. If anything, the crowd of onlookers just got bigger.

Then Alfred did something really stupid. He touched his nose tenderly, wiped at the flow of blood uselessly with his shirtsleeve, and he stood back up.

The bullies looked surprised. "You honestly want more, you little shit? Get back down!"

He shoved Alfred hard, sending the boy sprawling to the pavement. Matthew heard, rather than saw, the skin of Alfred's arm scrape against the harsh cement. Despite that, Alfred actually looked up at him and winked one pain-filled, brilliantly blue eye.

Then he stood up again.

"You hit like a little girl. Is that all you got?" Alfred swayed a bit on his feet, but he was grinning.

"I'll kill you!" The bully roared, launching himself onto Alfred and pummeling him unmercifully. His friends joined in, kicking at Alfred's sides and inflicting as much damage as they could on the gangly teen.

A harsh shout broke up the fight, and Prince Arthur came running into the courtyard with a professor on his heels. The bullies were immediately chastened, and hauled off towards the Headmaster's office. Another professor helped Alfred to sit up, wincing at the damage the young boy had sustained. Finally processing what was happening, Matthew scrambled to help scrape his rescuer off the pavement. With the professor holding him up on one side, and Matthew bracing him on the right, they made their way through the silent crowd of onlookers towards the hospital wing.

The first few drops of rain began to fall, erasing the evidence of Alfred's brutal beating from the pavement.

Francis stepped away from the throng of chattering students and approached his old rival, who had run to fetch a teacher immediately, despite claiming in first period that his roommate was mentally retarded.

"Perhaps you do not dislike your new roommate as much as you claimed in class—you ran awfully fast to fetch him aid, Prince Arthur," Francis commented. He was not smiling. Rather, he looked at the scene of the crime with an anger burning in his eyes.

"At least I _did_ something. Your roommate was being manhandled and you just stood by and watched. You're nothing but a coward, _frog_."

Stung by the words that rang a little too true, Francis watched as the proud British boy turned from his company sharply and strolled regally after his fallen roommate.

USUK

In the hospital wing, Alfred had a bandage wrapped efficiently around his nose (which the nurse informed him he was very lucky to still have in one piece) and he'd been given an ice pack for the fading bruise on his jaw. Matthew sat anxiously at the side of his cot, wringing his teddy bear backpack nervously.

"You were amazing. I'm so sorry for yesterday. I thought…you see I…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm the one that sounded like a prick. I didn't mean it that way, though. I _don't_ think gay people are freaks," Alfred explained. After a moment, he extended his hand. Matthew shook it happily. "Friends?" Alfred asked hopefully. Matthew fiercely nodded his head, his blond curls bouncing lightly around his face.

"Most definitely!" This was the scene that Arthur entered in upon. He arched an eyebrow at what appeared to be Matthew holding Alfred's hand.

"So you _are_ his boyfriend?" Arthur asked. Matthew released the American's hand hastily.

"No, but I figured it would kill two birds with one stone. Now people will stop teasing you for being my boyfriend, and Matthew knows I definitely don't think he's a freak. I hope it doesn't ruin your chances of getting asked out on a real date, though," Alfred said, directing the last part towards Matthew, with adorable earnestness. Matthew blushed.

"I doubt it. Guys don't tend to notice me very much, even just to be friends," Matthew said. Alfred huffed in dry amusement, and then winced as the action seemed to hurt his tender jaw.

"Well hey, if they don't even give you a chance, they don't know what they're missing. People give me a chance and _still_ decide they hate me."

"Don't put yourself down trying to make me feel better," Matthew said quietly but firmly. Alfred blinked up at him in surprise. "I saw something in you I've never seen before when you stood up to those guys. Alfred Jones, no matter what anybody says…you're special. You're going to be really great some day…and to me…you're pretty great right now." Matthew finished his statement by blushing, and ducking his head against his bear's soft fur bashfully.

Arthur, who was still watching quietly, tossed his head in annoyance.

"Well, I certainly don't mean to interrupt you two running off into the sunset together…but I suppose I must admit my initial judgment of you might have been slightly premature, Mr. Jones."

"Huh?" Alfred asked. "I can't understand you when you talk like something from a textbook."

Arthur rolled his eyes in true annoyance at having to repeat his words.

"I'm _saying_ that I'm sorry I hit you yesterday, and I'm sorry I acted like you weren't a good enough roommate. I'm starting to think you might be the very best one here. So, rest up, and I'll see to it those idiots are expelled at the very least. You needn't worry over the matter any further."

"Thanks, Arty…means…a lot," Alfred trailed off as his eyes slipped closed. The nurse bustled back in.

"That's the pain medication kicking in. He'll be out for the night likely. Now that you've said your piece, you boys get out of here and let my patient get some rest. Alert the Headmaster that Mr. Jones did not sustain any serious injuries, just a few bumps and bruises."

"Yes, madam," Arthur replied courteously before gesturing for Matthew to follow him. The two boys made their way out of the infirmary.

"Why did you hit him yesterday?" Matthew asked. Arthur reddened a bit in embarrassment.

"It's dumb, truly…he…he was thoroughly annoying and then he called me short. I _detest_ being teased about my height."

"Hmm…next time you should probably just tell him that. I don't think Alfred is the sort of guy that can pick up on subtleties."

"That's the understatement of the century. There is absolutely _nothing_ subtle about Alfred Jones," Arthur decided. Matthew smiled softly, and hid it in his bear's fur.

"I've never had a boyfriend before. Alfred's not exactly how I pictured him, but he's kind of nice all the same, don't you think?"

Arthur swallowed nervously and walked a little faster down the hallway, deciding simply not to respond to such a bizarre question. Hadn't Alfred said it was just a way to get all their moronic classmates from spreading rumors about himself and Arthur? Matthew didn't _really_ think he was dating the tall freshman now, did he?

Arthur didn't know, and quite frankly, he was a little too afraid to even ask.

**A/N: Yay! I love hero!America, but I love this sort of hero even more, because it's one thing going into a fight knowing you're going to win, and an entirely different matter going into one knowing you'll lose. But uh oh, now it looks like Matthew has his eye on Alfred instead of Francis! I wonder how that will play out…lol. Seriously, I wonder. I should plan the next chapter. **


	4. The Russian

**Chapter 4**

Despite the royal hissy fit Arthur had thrown in the Headmaster's office, the boys had not been expelled. As their parents were very important financial contributors to the school, and Alfred had not been seriously wounded, it was decided that they would be put on suspension for two weeks. Alfred didn't seem to be bothered by the news at all, which only made Arthur more indignant on his behalf.

"They attacked you! They have no place in this school," Arthur said from his bed, where he was surrounded by a small wall of books. Alfred, who had yet to do any of his homework assignments, just shrugged.

"You hit me, too, ya know. I guess I'm just used to it. If you get rid of those bullies, there will still be others. Don't worry about it! I'm tough—I can handle myself just fine, even if they do come back. I'm more worried about Matthew," Alfred said.

"Does he…err…still think you're his boyfriend?" Arthur asked, thoroughly uncomfortable with the idea. Alfred, however, just laughed.

"Who knows? He's kinda a funny guy, doncha think? But I like him. He covered for me in English today when I didn't know the answer," Alfred replied. Arthur frowned a little primly.

"You really shouldn't allow such rumors to continue if they aren't true. It may be a joke to you, but Matthew's feelings might really get hurt," Arthur warned. Alfred blinked at him in surprise.

"He knows it was just a cover…right? I told him so in the hospital wing."

"Well, yes, but he also made a comment to me that suggested he might fancy you now."

"Oh," Alfred said. He seemed to think about it for a moment and then added, "Well, that's cool! Nobody's ever had a crush on me before!"

His new roommate would try the patience of a saint; Arthur chunked a pillow at him.

"But you can't return his feelings! You're straight, and he's gay. There's a fundamental problem with the theory of your relationship," Arthur explained. Alfred just looked mildly confused.

"Wha? Look, if you're worried I'll get teased about it…don't worry!"

"I'm not…oh, just forget it. Why aren't you doing your homework?" Arthur asked instead. Alfred's confused expression remained.

"It's the first week of school—we don't have any homework, duh."

Arthur had three classes with Alfred and knew that, at least in those classes, Alfred had plenty of assignments.

"Yes you do. History has a paper due in just a week, and we have that huge packet of math problems in Algebra. Not to mention, we'll be having a science lab on Monday. Have you done any of the prep-work yet?"

"Err…"

"You're not a very good student, are you?" Arthur concluded. Alfred gave him a rather confused, slightly overwhelmed look that made Arthur wince. "Look, I'm only taking pity on you because you've had a rough week. I'll find out what's going on in your other classes and make a study schedule for you. For now, you can start by doing these."

Alfred took the packet of math problems from Arthur and wondered when they'd even gotten them. He didn't remember any hand-outs being given during class…

Glumly, Alfred fetched a pencil and his shiny, unopened math book. After skimming page one, Alfred decided it might as well have been written in Spanish, which was also a class he was flunking.

"I don't see your pencil moving," Arthur pointed out. Alfred glanced up guiltily from his textbook.

"I just…don't really know how to do this," Alfred said. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"He did several example problems on the board."

"I saw him scribbling on the board, but it didn't look like he was writing anything important."

"_Alfred_…from the very back seat in the classroom, could you even _see_ the board? You're squinting at your text book and its two feet in front of you. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four?"

"_Five_. How long have you been unable to see?"

"I can see just fine! I _don't_ need glasses!" Alfred had finally realized where his roommate was going with his line of questioning and became surprisingly stubborn instantly.

"I'll explain how to do it again, but tomorrow we're going back to the hospital wing so the nurse can evaluate your vision."

"But!"

"No buts! Even with the aid of your vision, you're going to struggle keeping up in such an academically demanding program. You certainly can't do it half-blind. Now scoot over," Arthur instructed, moving to his roommate's bed. Alfred made room and reluctantly watched as his roommate explained the math homework. He wrote with overly large numbers, and made sure Alfred could see every step.

"Oh! I think I get it now," Alfred said. He did a few problems on his own and Arthur smiled at him, pleased.

"Yes, that's it. These problems here are a little different, but I'll explain how those work once you finish these."

"Thanks for helping me, Arthur." Arthur suddenly realized he was sitting awfully close to his roommate, and their face were just inches apart. He blushed and got off the bed.

"It's nothing."

"It's _not_ nothing. Nobody's ever helped me with my homework before. You're totally my hero!"

Embarrassed, but very pleased for some strange reason, Arthur dismissed his roommate's sincere praise with a wave of his hand.

"Just get to work, Alfred. You have a lot to catch up on."

"But…it's only our third day of school!"

"DO YOUR MATH!" Arthur roared. Alfred instantly ducked his head into his textbook and began furiously scribbling. Smirking to himself, Arthur returned to his own assignments.

USUK

Arthur wasn't sure how, but by the second week of school, it had somehow come about that he sat with Alfred at lunch. Rather, Alfred sat by him, and Matthew sat by Alfred, and for some annoying reason, Francis sat by Matthew.

Which meant Arthur sat with Francis, who was his childhood rival, the bane of his existence, the _one_ person in the entire school that Arthur simply could _not_ tolerate.

"And, of course, she wished to use my paper as ze example. I do not mean to brag, but it received the very highest mark," Francis purred at Matthew, who didn't really appear to be listening. Arthur, who was in the same English class and had spent many more hours on his paper, chafed at the reminder Francis had scored one point higher than he had.

"It was a stupid paper topic, of absolutely _no_ relevance whatsoever to…"

"That's great, Francis! I got a C! My first C!" Alfred said. Arthur's eyes immediately went wide.

"A _C_? But you had a good topic…I scheduled you plenty of time to write the paper!" Arthur protested.

"Yeah, I guess it really made a difference. Thanks for your help, Arty!" Alfred beamed. Arthur was bewildered.

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Huh? No! I haven't gotten a C in forever! I usually flunk English—a C is totally passing!"

"Congratulations on your mediocrity," Francis said with a sneering smile. Alfred smiled innocently.

"Thanks!" A vein pulsed in Arthur's forehead.

"Don't thank him for being a dick! Who even invited you to sit with us, frog?" Arthur growled. Francis tossed his perfect hair, glancing casually at Matthew, who hadn't said a word and merely ate his lunch quietly (and happily) by Alfred's side.

"I'm not sitting with _you_…I'm sitting with my roommate," Francis said. Matthew glanced up at him and flashed him a shy little smile. It made Francis's expression soften ever so slightly.

"Well, your odious presence makes my lunch taste bad," Arthur accused.

Without missing a beat, Francis replied, "No, my short little friend…that is merely your terrible British cooking."

"Woah! Easy, Arthur!" Alfred said, automatically restraining his short, temperamental roommate when he made to lunge across the table.

Whatever fight might have ensued was interrupted by the arrival of a rather pretty boy, who cleared his throat delicately.

"Excuse me…you're Alfred Jones, right?" he asked. Alfred blinked at him in surprise and nodded.

"Yep, that's me."

"My name is Toris. I'm not quite sure how to ask this…but you see…I have a slight problem. I don't know what else to do," Toris said. Arthur sneered haughtily at Toris, instantly disliking his meek attitude, but Alfred smiled warmly and encouragingly at him.

"What's up? I'll help if I can," Alfred said. Clearly nervous, Toris took a seat beside Francis and glanced around for a few moments before determining the coast was clear.

"I need to know how you stood up to those bullies. You see, my roommate…he's a very scary guy. I tried convincing the school to reassign me, but they said I just have to make do."

"Who is he?" Alfred asked. Toris lowered his voice even more, as if afraid to even speak his name.

"Ivan. Ivan Braginski. He hasn't _done_ anything, per say, but he's always staring at me and following me now, too. I think he was…err…peeking at me in the shower yesterday. I can hardly sleep at night. I keep feeling like he's just standing over my bed…"

Alfred looked really alarmed. "I recognize the name—that tall kid? Really solid? Huge fists?"

"That's the one," Toris replied meekly. Alfred sighed, but he gave Toris a reassuring smile.

"Eh, he's not too scary. I've gotten beaten up by bigger guys than him before. I'll talk to him for you."

"No you will _not_. Alfred, it is _not_ your job to go throwing yourself in front of juvenile delinquents! Matthew's incident couldn't be helped, but this student hasn't hit anyone. If you confront him, you're asking for a fight, and I won't feel any pity for you," Arthur said. Toris flinched at his harsh words and seemed to fold meekly in on himself.

"He's r-right. I shouldn't ask you to go out of your way for me. You might get in trouble a-and…"

But it was too late. Alfred was already gone. Despite his callous words, Arthur followed after him instantly. Matthew did too, and Francis followed Matthew. They mystery of where Alfred was going was soon solved. The hulking freshman Ivan Braginski had just entered the cafeteria.

Alfred marched right up to him…and stuck out his hand. Looking slightly distrustful, Ivan shook it.

"Hi Ivan. My name's Alfred. You and I need to have a talk. Have you got a few minutes?"

The hulking Russian boy scowled, but there was curiosity in his eyes.

"I could spare a few moments."

"Good. Let's go out in the hallway. Guys, some privacy, please?" Alfred asked. Surprised by how mature he sounded, Arthur, Matthew and Francis stood dumbly in his wake. Toris had hidden himself somewhere.

Casually, the two students left the cafeteria. Once out in the hallway, Alfred stuck his hands into his pockets, and smiled at the taller boy.

"You really like your roommate, huh?"

"What's it to _you_?" Ivan asked.

"I just want to help you out. I get the feeling you want to be his friend, but you're just not sure how to do it. I'm not all that great at making friends either."

"Then why should I listen to you?" Ivan retorted. Alfred just smiled.

"I've gotten a little better at it, I think, since coming here. I can tell you how to make Toris like you, but I'll only tell you if you make me a promise."

The tall Russian stopped walking, and stared down his nose at Alfred in a rather intimidating manner.

"And what promise do you want from me?"

"Promise me you won't hurt him. You can't intimidate people into being your friend. That is what you're doing, right? I'm sure you don't mean to, but staring at him all the time and following him around so closely…it's only scaring him."

"I will…make that promise. What exactly do you suggest I do?" Ivan asked.

"Tell him exactly what you just told me—you won't ever hurt him, and you're only trying to be his friend, but you just don't know how to go about it."

"I don't want to be his friend. I want to be his boyfriend. And I don't like him talking to you very much. Tell me, how did you convince the little Canadian to let you fuck him? He is soft and gentle like my Toris. _That_ is the only advice I want to hear from you."

"Uh…I'm _not_…doing _that_ with Matthew, first off! Don't you think you're a bit young to be..err…doing _it_? I haven't even been kissed yet!"

Ivan gave him a look that suggested he was quite possibly the biggest loser in the world.

"B-but that's off-topic," Alfred continued hastily, "Look, Matthew likes me because I stuck up for him. I _protected_ him. I don't make him feel scared, and I didn't force him into being my friend. Oh, and I didn't tell him he couldn't talk to anyone else. You wouldn't like it very much if someone treated you that way."

"Fine then. Toris will be friends with you, because _you_ are no threat to me. You don't even know what your dick is for. I will tell Toris that he may be friends with you, but only if he agrees to be my boyfriend."

"That's not…I don't think you're understanding what I'm trying to say. And I _do_ know what my little Alfred is for!"

"Whatever, American," Ivan made it sound like an insult, "I will go find Toris to let him know I have approved of you being his friend, though why he wants you is a mystery to me."

Alfred watched the taller boy walk back towards the cafeteria feeling a little helpless. That certainly wasn't how he'd wanted (or expected) that conversation to go. He followed after glumly, instantly spotting Ivan speaking to Toris off to the side of the lunch hall when he re-entered. Toris looked utterly confused by what Ivan was saying to him.

"Are you bleeding?" Arthur asked.

"No, he didn't hit me. I just told him…well…it doesn't matter what I told him because it didn't really work."

"See? Now you've just caused more trouble than before. I _told_ you not to get involved!" Arthur chided. Alfred just shrugged a bit helplessly, watching the two hold their discussion with worried, big blue eyes.

After a moment, Toris blushed brilliantly. He glanced at everyone in the cafeteria and then (much to Alfred's surprise) grabbed Ivan by the sleeve and pulled him towards one of the courtyards.

"I've gotta follow them. He might be in trouble," Alfred said.

"That is a terrible idea. If you're so worried, we should get a teacher," Arthur replied. Francis sneered at him.

"Yes, run for a teacher, pet. While you do that, Alfred and I will take care of this situation. Come on, Alfred," Francis said. Matthew looked at the French boy in surprise, and flashed him an admiring smile.

"I'll come, too. I might not be much help in a fight, but poor Toris should know that lots of people want to help him out," Matthew said. Feeling like he'd look like a coward if he ran for a teacher then, Arthur followed behind them fuming.

They headed into the courtyard, but the students were nowhere to be seen. Alfred led the way around a corner, peeking carefully over some hedges and returning to his hiding spot. He nodded with his head that the two were around the corner, and their conversation could just barely be heard.

"…you promise you won't hurt me?" Toris's soft voice asked. They couldn't hear Ivan's response, but Toris replied to whatever it was, "If you agree to those conditions, then I'll be your boyfriend."

"What the _bloody _hell is going on in this school?" Arthur whispered. There was the sound of clothing rustling, and then a high pitched little gasp, followed by a needy little moan. Arthur's face turned bright red, and Matthew smiled a bit dreamily.

"Come on, you guys. I think they've worked out their problem. I doubt Toris will care that Ivan is staring at him now that he knows why. Ivan is a little creepy, but it's kind of cute that he has a crush on Toris. Good job playing Cupid, Alfred!"

Remembering what Ivan claimed he wanted to do in the hallway, Alfred was a little less inclined to believe it was a happy ending just yet.

"More like he's playing stupid. You really shouldn't stick your nose in other people's business so much, you know," Arthur chided.

"But Alfred's really good at this hero stuff. You should start a club!" Matthew said. Alfred glanced at the other boy in surprise.

"_Don't_ give him any ideas!" Arthur protested. Alfred pouted at him in what he hoped was a convincing manner.

"Aww, but Arty! I've never been in a club before! Four is enough to start a club, right?" Alfred asked hopefully. Francis raised a perfectly sculpted brow.

"Since when do you have four friends?"

"Well, Matthew, Arthur, you and me! You _are_ my friend, right Francis? At least, you're always hanging around with us now," Alfred said. Francis glanced at Matthew, and knew he could not be rude to the stupid American if he wished to stay in his roommate's good graces.

"I…suppose…we could be considered friends. If one uses a very liberal definition of the word."

"Great! And maybe Toris will be our friend now, too, as long as this whole situation with Ivan works out okay…" Alfred fretted. Matthew gave his back a friendly pat.

"You tried your best, Alfred. That's more than a lot of people would have done." Then turning to Francis he said, "And you were really brave, going out to face Ivan with Alfred like that. I feel really lucky to have made such great friends this year!"

Francis puffed up like a peacock and tossed his hair, offering Matthew a charming smile.

"Yes, well, one does what one must for love."

"I'm surrounded by bloody idiots, every last one of you. I'm going to study. If anyone else comes bursting out of the closet, don't bother telling me. I _really_ don't want to know."

Arthur stormed off then, presumably heading to the library.

"Tch, _such_ a prude, that one," Francis said. Alfred just grinned.

"Maybe, but he wouldn't be Arthur otherwise! Besides, being a Prince and all, he'll probably get a girlfriend before any of us do."

Francis gave Alfred a look that clearly suggested he thought Alfred was a particularly slow-witted child.

"Whatever you say. Matthew, we should probably head back to our room. We need to get started on our French project, _oui_?"

"Of course, Francis. I'll see you later, Alfred!"

"Later, Matthew! Bye Francis!"

Once out of earshot, Francis snorted.

"You're friend is not particularly bright, is he? Anyone can see that Arthur likes him."

"Huh?" Matthew replied. Francis seemed surprised for a moment, and then he shrugged.

"Maybe it's just because I have known him so long. Our mothers have forced us to play together since we were both very young. Arthur doesn't have _friends_, and he certainly won't ever get a girlfriend. Surely even _you_ can see that," Francis said. Matthew just shrugged.

"I don't know. The right girl might like Arthur just fine. He's very smart, and he _is_ a prince."

Francis sighed. "I give up. I suppose only the French can truly understand the mysterious workings of love." Matthew just smiled at him.

"That must be it. So what do you have in mind for our project?"

The two walked off down the hall talking about their project, their debate about Arthur's possible crush forgotten.

**A/N: **I'll cover this more in the next chapter, but just know that Russia is a bit older than his peers. He was held back in school, so while the other boys are 15, Russia is 16 pushing 17, which explains why he's a little more sexual. Lithuania is 15, however, and it remains to be seen how much he'll let Russia get away with. Lithuania won't be with Poland in this fic just because I don't really like Poland that much. Sorry Poland fans!

I have a (very) loose plot idea for this story now, but don't expect it to get super impressive or anything, lol. Basically, the first year will be about uniting the Allies as friends. As you might guess, it involves Matthew's suggestion for the Hero Club. More on that next chapter…maybe.


	5. Friends or Enemies?

**Chapter 5**

The second week of school arrived with great fanfare. All of the school ceremonies that had been postponed until the freshman were settled occurred on Monday morning, and they included a speech from the Headmaster, a lengthy flag ceremony, a guest speaker from the British parliament, and a short film about all the travel opportunities they would have throughout the year.

Alfred nodded off during the Headmaster's speech, but watched the movie at the end with great interest (after Arthur had pinched his leg until he woke up with a startled noise of pain that earned him disapproving glares from the upperclassmen.)

"Wow, those places look really cool! I wanna go see Stonehenge for sure. I bet you've already been to all those places though, huh?" Alfred asked Arthur as they filed out of the auditorium.

"Yes, but I might go on a few of the trips. It just depends on when they fall in the school year," Arthur replied. He adjusted his bulging school bag on his shoulder and cast a dark look after Francis, who walked ahead of them and chatted animatedly with a small group of pretty French girls. "And who else signs up," Arthur added darkly.

"Aww, don't be like that! Francis isn't so bad. I'm surprised he hangs out with us, though. I heard him getting some flak for it in the locker room yesterday. They're calling us the Queertet now," Alfred said with a laugh.

"Lovely," Arthur replied dryly, with much less amusement. Though Alfred usually brushed off such teasing, his expression suddenly looked a little glum.

"I'm all for standing up for Mattie…but I really hope that the rumors don't get back to my parents. My dad would _kill_ me if the tabloids start saying I'm gay on top of everything else."

"Everything else?" Arthur asked. Being a British royal, he was all too familiar with the cruel ways of the paparazzi, though they seemed to love him more than hate him.

"Back home, the press likes to pick on me a bit. I don't think anyone really means any harm by it, but it's hard to find fault with my parents, so they make fun of me instead. The late night comedians are the worst. My parents stopped letting me watch their shows, but I still sometimes see clips on the internet or wherever."

"What on earth do they say? Granted, you're not the spitting image of your father, but you're fairly normal as far as teenage boys go," Arthur replied charitably. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"It'd be a shorter list to say what I _haven't _been teased about. According to the tabloids, I've got an eating disorder, I'm on ADHD medication, I cry too much, I've got bad skin, I'm mentally retarded, I'm a klutz, I'm offensive, I'm politically ignorant, and a general embarrassment to my parents and my country…but thanks for thinking I'm normal," Alfred said with a self-depreciating grin.

"All of that is bollocks. Don't your parents stand up for you?" Arthur asked. Alfred flashed him a confused look.

"Why would they? It's all true. Well, _technically_ I'm not mentally retarded, but some of my old teachers would probably say otherwise," Alfred said with a laugh. Arthur frowned.

"It's _not_ true. I've lived with you a full week now. I think I would have noticed if you had an eating disorder," Arthur said, very serious despite Alfred's casual, joking tone.

"Oh, they just say that because of how skinny I am. I've tried bulking up but nothing really sticks."

"Is that why you're always eating so much? To bulk up?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah. Dad wants me to try out for ruby this year, but there's no way they'll want someone so skinny. He says it'll get me in shape for college football, but I'd much rather play baseball. I'm not really any good at baseball, either, but at least I won't get hit as much."

"Do you even _like_ sports?" Arthur asked. They had nearly reached their math classroom, and Arthur wished they didn't have to go inside just yet. He'd never expected to have such a serious discussion with his roommate, but it was highly interesting. Wrapped up in his own little world, it was rare that Arthur actually had discussions with other people.

"Well, yeah, sure! What boy doesn't like sports?" Alfred replied. Arthur turned up his nose a bit disdainfully.

"I prefer embroidery."

"What's that?" Alfred asked, utterly clueless.

"Otherwise known as needlework…you know, like sewing or quilting."

"Oh…wow. Didn't expect that one, I gotta say!" Alfred replied, clearly struggling not to laugh. Arthur frowned.

"Just _what_ is so amusing, Jones?"

"Nothing! It…fits you. It really does," Alfred said, still smiling. Arthur's voice lowered dangerously.

"Are you implying something?"

"Well, you gotta admit it's a little different…but it's cool that you do what you like and don't worry what other people will think about it! I wish I could be more like that," Alfred said. Arthur felt his cheeks warm with a blush. Not liking so much attention placed on himself, Arthur shifted the focus back to Alfred.

"If what your parents wanted didn't matter, what would _you_ want to do in school?"

Alfred laughed, clearly dismissing the question as crazy talk. They had reached their classroom, but they lingered outside the door, talking in hushed voices.

"I'm gonna be an awesome athlete! Why wouldn't I want that? All the girls will love me, I'll be super popular, and nobody will mess with me. My parents and I have always wanted the same thing."

"Whatever you say, Jones," Arthur said. He glanced at the classroom behind them, nearly full. "It's almost time for math. You finished your homework, right?"

"Most of it," Alfred mumbled guiltily.

"Alfred! What were you doing if not your math last night?" Arthur asked, as they entered the classroom. A platinum haired boy sitting near the door heard the comment and pitched his voice louder so everyone could hear. Gilbert had already gained the reputation of being the class clown, and his reddish-brown eyes were always glinting in amusement at someone else's misfortune.

"He was _doing_ his girly boyfriend. Didn't you see teddy bear walking all funny this morning?"

"Alfred is _not_ dating Matthew," Arthur said forcefully. Behind him, Alfred arched a confused brow at the strange reply.

"I think what Arthur meant to say is, 'stop teasing our friend, Matthew.' Seriously, dude, why do you have to make Mattie the butt of all your jokes?"

"Ha! 'Cause he takes it in the butt! Get it? The _butt_ of all my jokes?" The students who were listening in laughed at the crass reply and Alfred felt his cheeks color with embarrassment. He'd walked right into that one…

"Let's just sit down already," Arthur hissed in displeasure. Feeling helpless to do anything else, Alfred took his seat beside his roommate (his new seat, at the front of the class) and pulled out his homework. Arthur snatched it onto his own desk, his emerald eyes scanning the work hastily.

"If you got these problems right, you should have had any trouble with…oh," Arthur said upon flipping to the second page. The whole left margin of the paper was full of little drawings and doodles, all of them neat and sharp, as well as a larger picture of a female superhero that was really quite beautiful.

Walking by the desk, the professor snatched up the paper and glanced at the name on the front sheet.

"That will be ten points off both of your papers for sharing answers, and another ten points off _your_ paper, Mr. Jones, for all your pointless scribbling. If you have time for childish drawings, you have time enough to finish your assignment."

Alfred sighed, his head dropping onto his arms. He was quite used to point deductions and reproaches, and took it without even blinking, but Arthur was not.

"We were _not_ sharing answers! I was merely seeing which problems gave him difficulties!"

"Kindly let me do the job of teaching, Prince Arthur. Trust me, if I decide Mr. Jones needs a tutor, you're the first person I'll ask, your highness."

Snickers echoed throughout the classroom as they always did when a professor used Arthur's royal title. Quieted by embarrassment, and annoyed that he'd lost marks because of Alfred's incomplete homework assignment, Arthur ignored his roommate for the rest of the period.

USUK

By the third week of school, everyone was finally beginning to settle in. There had been no field trips out into London yet, though all the students were eagerly looking forward to them. Arthur had continued to help Alfred study, and assured him that he looked just fine in his new glasses. A few other boys disagreed, and started calling Alfred "four-eyes," which he took in stride, but Arthur could tell it hurt the gangly teen's feelings.

It hadn't been a smooth start for the two unlikely roommates. For Arthur, it was difficult adjusting to someone always being _there_. He fell asleep to the sound of Alfred's soft snores, and he woke up to the rather pleasant way Alfred sang in the shower. Their room always smelled like cocoa butter and cheeseburgers, as Alfred was constantly sneaking food into the dorm, and he lathered up in that strange, thick lotion of his every night. Still, Arthur couldn't deny the results. On the rare occasions he'd brushed up against his roommate, or accidentally touched his hand, he was startled to feel the unbelievable softness of Alfred's skin.

As for Alfred, he discovered having his first friend was all that he had hoped it would be and more. Arthur was always helping him out by keeping him organized and caught up in his classes. He ate lunch with him in the cafeteria, they walked to some of their classes together, and they even had a few inside jokes. Alfred had gotten Arthur hooked on one of his online RPGs, one centered around WWII. They teamed up as soldiers from their respective countries to fight zombie Nazis, and both of them enjoyed the anonymity of the internet. Keeping with the theme of sharing their interests, Arthur let Alfred borrow several of his favorite science fiction novels, which the American read with surprising speed. It was a huge deal for Arthur, to be so relaxed and close with someone.

Against all odds, Alfred and Arthur were becoming the very best of friends. Arthur only had one, tiny little problem: Matthew was even closer to Alfred than he was. Despite all of Francis's attempts to keep Matthew's interest solely on himself, Matthew and Alfred connected like twins separated at birth—or like boyfriends, if Matthew had anything to say about it. It wasn't that they had a lot in common, Arthur decided, but rather the experience they'd shared the first week of school had created some kind of bond forged in steel. If Arthur couldn't find his roommate and was forced to look for him, he'd inevitably find him holed up with Matthew giggling over something ridiculous, or they'd be goofing off together in some picturesque spot on campus. It was utterly annoying. The whole school thought they were together, and that annoyed Arthur as well, though he couldn't for the life of him explain why.

He was pondering this very problem as they all sat outside on a rare sunny afternoon, their textbooks for various classes spread out over a picnic table, the four of them studying together. Mostly, however, Alfred and Matthew were goofing off. Alfred had started his reading assignment just fine, but then he'd begun making little doodles in the margin of Matthew's French book that made the other boy giggle like a school girl.

"Will you two concentrate and get some work done for once?" Arthur snapped waspishly. Francis snorted at his tone, but didn't bother to defend Matthew's actions. He shared Arthur's annoyance with the strange, budding relationship between their two roommates. Alfred blinked his big blue eyes innocently at Arthur.

"I am concentrating, I swear!"

"I sincerely doubt you're making much progress in Shakespeare while you're defacing Matthew's textbook."

"I'm not defacing it. I'm adding pictures," Alfred said. Matthew grinned again and added something to Alfred's doodle that made them both start snickering. Fed up with it, Arthur slammed his book shut and leaned over them. Matthew tried to hide the drawing, but he was not quick enough. On the top corner of the page, there was a tiny little drawing of a character who could be none other than Arthur, distorted to extremely short proportions, accompanied by a speech bubble that said "STUDY!" and a constipated look on his face. Matthew had just been scribbling in gigantic eyebrows.

"Screw the both of you. From now on you can just fail, Alfred. See if I give a bloody damn!" Furious, Arthur stormed off after hastily collecting his books. He ignored Alfred's desperate apologies. Francis watched the whole scene with assessing blue eyes. Once Arthur was gone past hearing them, he rebuked Alfred.

"For someone that has been teased quite a bit since coming here, you didn't hesitate to trample over Arthur's feelings, did you?"

"It wasn't just Alfred. I'm the one that drew the eyebrows…" Matthew said, looking very guilty. The truth was, just as Arthur felt a little jealous of Matthew, Matthew felt a little jealous of Arthur. It wasn't because he truly wanted Alfred as his boyfriend, but he did want to be his best friend. It was just a perk that it made Francis jealous to hear him fawn over the American. In this way, Matthew and Arthur were both competing for the attention of a boy who had never had even one friend before, and now had two of them who didn't want to share him.

Feeling a little disappointed in Matthew as well, Francis decided to leave. Francis knew he liked Matthew a great deal, but he was beginning to suspect he only liked him because Matthew was interested in someone else. Francis was a healthy teenage boy, and he had no intention of wasting his entire freshman year pining after a roommate who was hung up on the school's biggest loser. Not to mention, all the whispered jokes about his unofficial membership in the Queertet were beginning to annoy him. If Matthew hadn't seen all the reasons why Francis was obviously superior as a crush by then, the boy just didn't have any taste.

"_Au revoir_. I suddenly feel the urge to pay a visit to Madeline."

"W-wait! I'll come with you!" Matthew said. Francis gave the boy a considering look, but ultimately stuck with his decision.

"No, this is the sort of visit where three would be a crowd. You understand, don't you Matthew? I will see you later tonight, and tell you all about how it goes," Francis said, confirming what he was just beginning to suspect. Matthew really _was_ just playing a game with his affection. The soft-spoken boy looked more than a little jealous and put-out.

"Man, Francis is so lucky! We've only been here three weeks and he's already got a girl that likes him. Hey, Mattie, think Francis could hook me up with a really hot French girl? They're always hanging all over him…" Alfred said. Matthew frowned, suddenly quite irritated with all of his friends—Arthur, for being too sensitive, Francis, for being too perceptive, and with Alfred as well, for not being perceptive enough.

"You should worry about patching things up with your roommate before he throws all your stuff into the hallway, Alfred," Matthew advised, before gathering his own things and leaving Arthur alone at the table. Alfred was starting to get the impression everyone was suddenly mad at him, when a familiar boy sat down beside him.

"I couldn't help but overhear…" Toris said gently. Alfred shrugged helplessly.

"I was just goofing off with Mattie like always. I dunno why Arthur got so upset all the sudden."

"Wasn't it something about a drawing?"

"Well, yeah, but I've drawn all of us like that. See?" Alfred pulled out a sketch book that was almost full of little doodles and comic strips. Some were drawn more in the traditional style, and featured characters like Superman and Wonder Woman, while the majority seemed to follow the adventures of Alfred and the people he had met at World Academy, all squished into cute little versions of themselves. Toris read over a few of the strips, smiling at the dialogue.

"Matthew helps me come up with the stories. He's really funny. I don't know why he made Arthur have big eyebrows…I mean, they're a little bushy, but they're not that bad or anything. Besides, why would he be sensitive about that? My face looks like a friggin' pizza."

Toris gently closed the book and handed it back to Alfred. "Nobody likes to be teased. Arthur probably didn't realize you draw everyone like that. He must have felt like you and Matthew were laughing at him behind his back."

"I hope he'll believe me when I tell him I wasn't," Alfred fretted.

"Just show him these drawings. I think he'll forgive you if you sincerely apologize."

"Thanks, Toris…hey, so how's it going with Ivan?" Alfred asked. Toris blushed slightly and shifted his gaze to the tabletop.

"He's very…_persuasive_. But I'm getting used to him. He still kind of scares me sometimes, but I don't think he means much by it. I'm even starting to trust him a little. He has a sweeter side, if you can look past the fact that his family practically runs the Russian mafia."

"The _what_? Since when is Ivan in the mafia? He's only fifteen!"

"You had not heard? Everyone knows of his family's…connections. Ivan is actually sixteen, though. They held him back last year because he didn't pass his finals."

"They didn't flunk him out?" Alfred asked.

"Would _you_ want to tell the head of the Russian mafia that you're kicking his son out of your school?" Toris asked with quiet amusement. Alfred laughed a bit nervously.

"Yikes! I guess not! Well, guess that explains why he's so scary and nobody talks to him. I'm glad it's going okay, though. I gotta say, I was a little worried about you," Alfred said as he packed up his things. Toris just smiled serenely. "Hey, how come you guys never sit with us at lunch?" Alfred asked.

"I didn't know we were invited," Toris replied with a friendly smile. "Not many students will approach Ivan, and none approach me by extension."

"What? Of course you're invited! Ivan said you could hang out with me. Not that it would matter even if said you couldn't, but ya know what I mean! You should sit with us tomorrow. I'll save you guys some seats."

"Then we would love to join your table sometime. For now, I have to get going. Good luck patching things up with Arthur. Oh, and don't forget that there's supposed to be a special notice posted in the common room in an hour," Toris reminded.

"I wonder if it has anything to do with all the stuff the upperclassman are assembling in the gym?" Alfred mused.

"Maybe," Toris said, standing elegantly and swinging his book bag onto his narrow shoulders. Seemingly out of nowhere, Ivan appeared, startling his honey-haired boyfriend.

"Let's go," Ivan said gruffly. Once his initial surprise faded, Toris smiled serenely at the roommate he had once feared.

"Did your test go well?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Ivan grunted. The large teenager looked tense, and in a worse mood than usual. It made Alfred uneasy, but Toris seemed accustomed to it. The gentle boy slipped his hand into Ivan's, petting his thick arm a bit consolingly before stretching onto his tip-toes and kissing Ivan's cheek.

"We'll practice some more tonight, okay? I promise I won't let you get stuck staying behind a year again."

"Whatever. I said let's go. _Now_."

"Goodbye, Alfred," Toris said with a happy little wave. Alfred smiled back unsurely. He'd have to ask Arthur about the mafia stuff. Toris didn't strike him as the type to lie, but surely it couldn't really be true.

"Later, Toris," Alfred said, collecting his own things. He wasn't looking forward to it, but somehow he had to convince Arthur that he and Matthew weren't making fun of him, or at least, weren't making fun of _just_ him. Considering his luck so far that day, Alfred's hopes weren't too high for success.

**A/N: **Merry Christmas! A new chapter, finally! Sorry for the long delay guys, but I had to wait till I got some time off for Christmas. Hope it was worth the wait! I can't wait to hear if you guys like the Mafia!Russia sideplot…if you do, I'll give them some more screen time.


	6. Matthew has a Crush

**Chapter 6**

"Please let me in, Arthur. I promise we weren't making fun of _just_ you. I'll show you my notebook! I draw everyone like that. I would have shown you sooner, but I thought you'd say my comics were a waste of time," Alfred explained to the unyielding door. With the weather being so pretty outside, the dorm hall was practically deserted. There was a long moment of silence (one of many, as Alfred had been apologizing to the door for nearly ten minutes now) but then the creaking of the door hinges brought a happy smile to Alfred's face.

"Prove it," Arthur said crisply, as he snatched the sketchbook out of Alfred's hands. The door closed again, but Alfred knew Arthur's resolve to stay mad was weakening. Prepared to wait awhile, Alfred sat outside the door, unaware that Arthur mirrored his pose on the other side. If he strained his ears, he could hear Arthur flipping the pages slowly.

There was a muffled chuckle of amusement.

"Mathew writes the dialogue and I draw the pictures. You're laughing at the one where the coach mistook Francis for a girl, aren't you?"

"That _was_ rather hilarious," Arthur replied. There was a long pause and then, "I wouldn't have thought your art was a waste of time. Honestly, I think you're quite good. You shouldn't hide your true talents, Alfred."

"Geez, it's not a talent. Don't get so serious on me! They're just little doodles. Even if you don't think they're a waste of time, everyone else does."

"Everyone except Matthew. Why…why did you show him, but not me?" Arthur asked, finally getting to the heart of the matter. Alfred shifted a bit uncomfortably in the hallway, glancing a bit nervously to the right and left.

"Can I come in first?" The door opened a few seconds later, and Arthur admitted him with a blushing face. He meekly handed him the sketchbook as he closed the door behind the taller boy.

"You don't have to tell me why. I shouldn't pry. I don't really care anyway," Arthur said. Alfred smiled at the very obvious attempt to make himself sound tougher after admitting his feelings were hurt.

"I only suggested the comic idea to Matthew so that we'd have something we could do together. He's not really into video games or sports, and it makes him feel invisible since guys our age don't really know how to talk to him. He's good at storytelling, though, and he's funny if you give him a chance to open up."

Arthur stared up at him intensely for a moment before finally offering him a small, proud smile.

"You keep surprising me, Jones."

"Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?" Alfred asked hopefully. Arthur sighed, but smiled.

"I'm not mad anymore…but my eyebrows are _not_ that bad."

"So what if they're a little thick? They give your face character. I happen to like them," Alfred said with a lighthearted smile. Arthur blushed, and crossed the room to his bed where he picked up one of his favorite novels.

"Well, I'd like to read your comics…if you want to share them, that is. I'll work some time for you to practice your drawing into your schedule."

Alfred laughed as he plopped onto his own bed in a messy sprawl of too-long limbs. "Is there time in my schedule to go see the super-secret announcement?"

"It's hardly a secret. It's just the official hand-out saying we all have to join extracurricular activities. Recruiting week starts tomorrow."

"What's recruiting week?" Alfred asked, obviously excited. Arthur glanced up from his book at his clueless roommate.

"I guess you wouldn't know. My three older brothers graduated from World Academy so I know most of the traditions. Recruiting week is when the school clubs advertise what they do and try to convince freshman to join. You'll get loads of free things, and the upperclassmen will be really nice to you, as club budgets are determined by the number of members. It's all reversed next week, during club initiation."

"Reversed?"

"I believe you call it 'hazing' in America. Basically, after buttering you up to get you to join, you then have to do all the shit work for the upperclassmen to prove your worthy of being a member. Some clubs are worse about it than others."

"Huh, that sounds fun! How many clubs can you join? Can we start our own?"

"Don't tell me you still want to form that silly Hero Club of yours! Really, it's a terrible idea, Alfred. But to answer your earlier question, I think the maximum number of clubs you can join is five. Nobody does that, though. The academics program here is too rigorous to have time for five clubs."

"Why do you think the Hero Club would be such a bad idea?"

"Alright, I'll humor you. You want to create a club for the sole purpose of solving other people's problems?"

"Yeah! I bet we'd make lots of friends that way, just like how I became friends with Matthew and Toris," Alfred explained happily. Arthur gave him an assessing look.

"You shouldn't have to do something for someone before they see your value as a person, Alfred. Besides, people should solve their own problems. It builds character."

"There's no shame or weakness in asking a friend for help. That's what friends are for! Your problem is that you just don't trust anybody," Alfred said. Having already returned to his book, Arthur looked up sharply at the strangely perceptive comment from his roommate. Up until that moment, he'd just assumed he was right in the argument and that Alfred was just being naïve, but was it possible Alfred was at least partially right, too? Oblivious to the effect his simple observation had upon his roommate, Alfred pressed for more information.

"So what would I need to start a club?" Alfred asked.

"Technically, if you had four members, one of whom is an upperclassman, and a professor to sponsor it, you could form your own club…but why don't you try joining a pre-existing club first, though? If your only aim is to make friends, you might find starting your own club is unnecessary. World Academy has a very prestigious art club," Arthur suggested. Alfred, however, scoffed at the idea.

"I told you to lay off about my stupid doodles already. I'm not some fancy artist! I'll definitely sign up for some clubs, but I haven't given up on the Hero Club idea yet."

With a shake of his head, Arthur focused solely on his book, tuning out the random ramblings of his roommate. His thoughts, however, strayed into dangerous territory.

'_I trust others just fine. Alfred just doesn't know what he's talking about, as usual.'_ Comforted by his own reassurances, Arthur returned to his tales of Merlin.

USUK

Matthew hastily put away his diary as his roommate re-entered their shared room. Francis looked more unkempt than usual, with his shirt rumpled and his hair out of place. For a moment, Matthew thought Francis was trying to gauge his reaction, but Matthew soon convinced himself he was imagining things.

"D-d-did you and Madeline have a fun time?" he asked in shaky French. Francis loosened his school tie and sat elegantly on his bed.

"We made out. She's not a bad kisser, but she uses her teeth a bit too much. Kissing should be soft, no?" Francis replied, a teasing note to his smooth voice. Matthew hugged his pillow tightly against his chest, blushing behind his curly bangs.

"I w-wouldn't know. I've never kissed anyone."

"There's no harm in waiting, but don't wait too long, my friend. I plan on getting as much practice as I can. It's the duty of every young French man to study this particular subject with devotion!" Francis abandoned his bed and crossed to the window, where he stared out over the setting sun. "Tell me, Matthew, are you saving your first kiss for someone special?"

"I d-dunno. I just haven't been kissed yet, that's all."

"Well, if you ever want to practice, I could help you out. I probably know more about it than most boys in our year."

Matthew blushed deeply and squeezed his pillow a little tighter. He closed his eyes tightly, and he was horrified to hear his voice squeak when he replied.

"O-okay!"

Smiling at him knowingly, Francis suddenly crossed the room and had a knee on Matthew's bed. He leaned forward and rested his hand on Matthew's knee. Unable to hold Francis's intent yet playful gaze, Matthew cracked and pulled the pillow over his face. His words were mumbled behind the fabric, but very clear.

"I didn't mean right now! I'm not ready!"

Francis shifted to the side and let out a soft chuckle. _His_ voice sounded deep and a little rough already, despite the fact he had only turned fifteen that past July.

"You shouldn't flirt if you aren't ready for where it leads. I will come straight to the point. As long as you play your game with the American, I will find companionship elsewhere. When you _are_ ready, you know where to find me. Do not try to make me jealous, Matthew. I refuse to compete with the likes of Alfred Jones. It's a joke to even suggest such a thing."

Too mortified to continue the conversation, Matthew slipped past Francis and darted for the door. Once in the hallway, he hesitated only a second before running a few doors down and knocking on Alfred's door. For a moment he feared Alfred would be gone due to his earlier spat with Arthur, but thankfully the door opened a few moments later and Alfred stared quizzically out at him.

"Hey Matty, what's up?" Not even able to explain, Matthew slipped into the room and shut the door. It was only then that Alfred noticed his bright red face.

"Francis…he…he…"

"Did he grope you? It would be _just_ like that pervert! Do you know he showed me a dirty magazine when I was ten? My mum caught us with it and that little bastard said it was mine. That's how I found out about sex—my mum interrogating me on where I'd gotten such dirty filth! It wouldn't surprise me at all if he was being lewd," Arthur said, tossing his book and his restraint aside. Matthew scrambled for words, shaking his head desperately.

Glancing uneasily at Arthur, clearly a little uncomfortable with the situation, Alfred gently wrapped his arm around Matthew's shoulders and guided him to the small couch that sat between the two beds.

"Just take your time telling us what happened. You're not hurt, are you?" Alfred asked.

"I'm not h-h-hurt…just embarrassed! It was _awful_! I acted like such a baby!" To further this claim, big fat tears began to roll down Matthew's cheeks. Looking even more alarmed, Alfred shot a desperate look at Arthur over Matthew's head. Arthur shrugged helplessly.

"I have to admit something really stupid I've been doing to you, Alfred," Matthew said, hiccupping a little between his tears. "It was really dumb, and it just blew up in my face. I feel like such an idiot now!"

"Err…what's going on? I'm really confused, Matty," Alfred said weakly.

"I was using you to t-try and m-make Francis jealous, but h-he realized what I was d-doing and now he's going to make out with everyone in school just to prove how d-dumb I am for trying to make _him_ jealous. T-then he said he'd kiss me, b-but I freaked out and panicked and just ran away!"

"Wait, how were you using me to make Francis jealous?" Alfred asked oblivious. From his spot on the bed, Arthur felt a rush of vindication. At Matthew's confession, Arthur finally felt his resentment towards the other boy fade harmlessly away. _Now_ Alfred would see what he'd warned him about all along—this was what came of getting tangled up in other people's affairs. Arthur just couldn't resist the 'I-told-you-so-moment.'

"See? I told you two weeks ago to clarify things between you and him. Instead, you let the whole school think something that wasn't true, and now Francis is being a twat because of it," Arthur accused, directing the comment pointedly at Alfred. The other boy looked sheepish and confused simultaneously while he tried to sort it out in his head.

He still had his arm wrapped around Matthew's shoulders, and Arthur settled his glare on the offending arm, wondering why Alfred wasn't reaching the same conclusion he had—Matthew hadn't been sincere all along. Why was Alfred still being so friendly with him?

"I was t-too shy to flirt with Francis, so I flirted with you. At first it seemed to be working, since he finally noticed me, but now it's all gone wrong. I'm sorry, Alfred."

"Hey, no worries, Matty! So what if you flirted with me a bit? I honestly didn't notice. But Francis is right…I'm not much of a threat. Even Ivan said so. Maybe if you flirt with Arthur, he'll take it more seriously?" Alfred suggested. Arthur blushed.

"Alfred, you're being utterly daft! Matthew _used_ you—what part of that confession do you not comprehend?"

Matthew looked even more chastised at Arthur's outburst, and sniffled pathetically.

"Geez, Arthur, take it easy. So Matty got a bit confused. When you really like someone, it's hard to know what the right thing is to do in every situation. It's easy to get all tongue tied. I'm sure we can figure out how to patch things up between you and Francis, if that's what you want, Matthew."

"I don't think even you can fix this, Alfred. What fifteen year old hasn't even been kissed yet? I freaked out over something so minor…now Francis will never take me seriously."

"So the fact that you've never been kissed is what's got you all nervous?" Alfred asked, having trouble following the conversation.

"Have _you_ ever been kissed?" Matthew asked Alfred softly. Arthur could practically feel the atmosphere changing in the room, and he didn't like it, not one bit. Not exactly understanding why he suddenly felt compelled to remind the other two boys he was present, Arthur said the first thing that popped into his head.

"This sounds like a job for the Hero Club, huh? Get Matthew his first kiss from _Francis_. After all, Matthew, that _is_ who you want your first kiss from, right? It wouldn't be satisfactory if it was from anyone else."

A little startled, Matthew broke the gaze he'd been sharing with Alfred.

"Huh? Oh, y-yes. Of course, but I couldn't possibly now…I'm too embarrassed to even talk to him!"

Predictably, Alfred's eyes lit with fiery determination.

"Glad you're finally understanding why the Hero Club is so important, Arthur! Okay, you two, meet me in the library in twenty minutes. I'll round up the other club members and we'll get this problem solved in no time!"

Matthew looked torn between embarrassment and amusement, and finally settled on seeing the humor in the situation.

"I can't believe I'm going along with this, but I'm too nervous to say anything to Francis now. Will you guys really help me?" Matthew said. Alfred gave him a huge, reassuring grin, while Arthur merely grimaced.

"Of course! The heroes of Hero Club never disappoint!"

Off like a racing horse, Alfred disappeared to track down his meek friend Toris, and his intimidating boyfriend Ivan. Arthur and Matthew were left standing together in a rather tense, awkward silence.

"As much as it pains me to say this…I agree with the frog. If you don't genuinely like Alfred, don't flirt with him."

"You know, something else Francis said to me is starting to make sense. He said _you_ liked Alfred."

"Of course I like him…as much as any roommate can tolerate his assigned companion."

"And that's why you're always glaring at me when I laugh with Alfred and you're not in on the joke, or when you get annoyed with him for spending time with me instead of you. I was trying to make Francis jealous, but somehow _you_ got jealous, too," Matthew concluded wisely.

"Preposterous! Just because_ you're_ gay doesn't mean everyone else wants to be! I'll stop glaring at you when you start being honest and sincere with Alfred. He's so desperate to make friends that he'd tolerate just about anything, but you shouldn't take advantage of his…his…Alfred-ness," Arthur concluded ridiculously.

Matthew grinned a bit at Arthur's strange phrasing, but after a moment he extended his hand. Arthur stared at it unsurely. Almost reluctantly, he briefly touched his hand to Matthew's and gave a slight shake.

"From now on, I promise to be upfront with Alfred. I won't use him knowingly ever again, for any reason."

"See that you don't," Arthur started to say, but Matthew continued.

"And in return for that promise, you won't make Alfred feel like you're the only friend he's allowed to have."

At first, Arthur's expression was angry, but it quickly morphed into one of self-reflection. The shorter boy nodded a bit hesitantly.

"Agreed."

"Then we'll both back off a bit…and maybe even we could be friends, too?" Matthew asked unsurely. Arthur didn't share the other boy's cautious optimism, but he nodded again.

"We certainly seemed to get off on the wrong foot. I can let bygones be bygones if you can."

"Good. We should probably go find Alfred before he starts telling Ivan, of all people, about my little problem," Matthew said, suggesting by his tone that he knew Ivan's response would be far from pleasant.

The two boys made their way to the library, where they instantly spotted Alfred sitting at a table with Toris and Ivan.

"Uh-oh, he's already found him," Matthew observed.

"All we can do now is hope to minimize the damage. Come on," Arthur said. They approached the table to find the conversation had already started.

"—so he wants to get a kiss from Francis. It's the next mission of the unofficial Hero Club!"

"Vy zapazdyvayushchim," Ivan retorted in Russian.

"Ivan, be nice. If Alfred had not helped me, you and I would not have had _our _first kiss," Toris said gently. The Russian boy's demeanor suddenly altered, and Alfred and Torris realized he was smiling sweetly at the approach of Matthew and Arthur. It was alarming (and a little creepy) how the hulking teen could morph so quickly from threatening expressions to childish ones.

"I hear you have a little problem, teddy bear," Ivan said grinning. Matthew blushed darkly, and sat reluctantly at the table, firmly opposite Ivan's large, grinning frame.

"Hey, don't call him that, Ivan. It's not nice," Alfred said. For a moment, Ivan's gaze met Alfred's challengingly, despite Ivan's happy smile, but whatever he saw in the smaller American only made his gleeful grin widen. Arthur swallowed thickly, wishing he could hit Alfred over the head for making such a dangerous acquaintance. While appearing rather serene on the surface, Toris kept darting glances between Ivan and Matthew with a slightly nervous air.

"You're v-very…eh…experienced, right? I suppose you think it's s-silly to be nervous about a first kiss," Matthew said softly. Ivan's bright grin dimmed somewhat and he glanced at Toris, with an expression that could almost be considered fond.

"If your French roommate were more of a man, he would simply take what is his to claim. He is playing word games. It is only because he is just as nervous as you."

Matthew was clearly startled by that, and he glanced to Arthur for his opinion. Arthur just looked uncomfortable.

"Don't look at me. You lot are the ones obsessed with dating and kissing and," he flashed a brief glance at Ivan's grin, "God-only-knows-what-else," he finished awkwardly.

"I think Ivan could be on to something! Maybe Francis is nervous, too. Since you weren't flirting with him, maybe he's not sure where he stands and wants you to make the first move," Alfred suggested.

"Y-you mean, me kiss him? But I c-can't do that!"

"This is ridiculous. What _exactly_ did Francis say?" Arthur asked, as if he were about to step into the role of Sherlock Holmes.

"He said…he'd kiss other people until I was done playing games with Alfred. But I don't want him to kiss other people! I just want him to kiss me…but I'm not ready yet."

"He is not a true man. He has no loyalty to what he has claimed," Ivan declared.

"Typical of Francis, though. He _is_ the sort of asshole that would tell someone who liked him that he wouldn't wait for them," Arthur mused.

"I don't think Francis is a bad guy, he's just…horny. I think we should focus on making Matty feel confident about kissing. I thought you two could give him some tips," Alfred suggested. Toris glanced up in surprise, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"Would that help you, Matthew?" Toris asked gently. Matthew seemed simultaneously embarrassed and curious at the same time. Arthur, feigning disinterest, began to flip through a book abandoned on their table, but he was carefully listening all the same.

"I think it just might, actually," Matthew replied shyly.

"Kissing can be really fun. I didn't think it would be at first, but when it's soft and gentle, it can be very nice."

"It should be strong and possessive. If you feel like you've just kissed your grandmother when it's over, move on to a real man," Ivan butted in.

"Well, that's true, too. So I guess, there are different ways to kiss, but for a _first_ kiss, I think a little softer and more romantic is best. There are some really nice spots around campus. Why don't you ask him to go to one with you? It helps if there's a mood set," Toris advised.

During this talk of kissing, Ivan's hand had managed to intertwine with Toris's, and the older boy was looking intensely at the silky strands of hair tucked around the curve of Toris's ear.

"We are done studying. Let's go," Ivan said demandingly. Toris flashed an apologetic, bashful smile but hastily began to pack up their things.

"I enjoyed the meeting, but we really do need to get back to our rooms," Toris let out a little sqeak, and Arthur suspected it had something to do with Ivan's hand, which was out of sight behind Toris.

Alfred looked confused at their abrupt departure, but smiled good-naturedly.

"Well, thanks for talking to Matty! I guess we'll see you guys at lunch tomorrow. Bye!" Alfred said. Arthur's eyes widened in alarm. Surely Alfred hadn't asked _Ivan_ to sit with them at lunch. Of all the stupid, foolish things to do…

"Lunch, da, whatever. Let's _go_ already!" Ivan pressed, grabbing Toris's arm a bit roughly. The soft-spoken boy was all but dragged off, in such a hurry that he didn't even have time to grab Ivan's book bag for him.

"Huh. Wonder why they had to go so soon?" Alfred said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"All that talk of kissing got your friend Ivan a little hot under the collar," Arthur informed. Alfred's baby blue eyes went wide with realization. His blush almost rivaled Matty's. He hastily tried to change the subject.

"Err…did that help at all, Matty?"

"W-well, I don't think Toris would lie. If _he_ thinks it's enjoyable, I'm sure it is," Matthew replied.

"You still shouldn't let Francis pressure you into doing something you're not ready to do. Let him kiss whoever he bloody well pleases. He's the one who'll end up with an STD, mark my words," Arthur said.

"M-maybe I'm not ready because Francis isn't the right one for me…" Matthew pondered. Arthur's green eyes widened in alarm and flashed to Alfred's oblivious look of polite concern. _He_ knew where Matthew's thoughts were going even if his stupidly oblivious roommate didn't get it.

"But, of c-course, Francis has his…g-good points," Arthur forced out. His smile was utterly unconvincing. Catching onto Arthur's worries, Matthew grinned.

"Don't worry, Arthur. I won't flirt with either of you anymore. I know it probably makes you both uncomfortable…what with you being straight and all," Matthew said. Arthur's cheeks were very pink, but he looked relieved.

"Wait, you were flirting with Arthur, too? When was all this flirting happening? How the hell do you flirt, anyway? Now _I'm_ confused. We should have asked Toris and Ivan more questions," Alfred said glumly, slumping over in defeat.

Matthew gave Alfred a gentle smile and patted his back.

"That's okay, Alfred. You helped me out—really! I think…I think I just need to talk to Francis, now that I'm not so embarrassed. When I _am_ ready for my first kiss, this talk will help me feel more prepared, I'm sure of it. You're a good friend, Alfred…you too, Arthur. I'll see you guys later," Matty said.

Looking distracted, though he smiled and waved at Matty as he left, Alfred collected Ivan's school bag.

"I guess I'll take this back to him," Alfred said. Still blushing, Arthur snatched the bag.

"I have my first class with him in the morning. I'll see that he gets it. Right now he probably wouldn't appreciate the interruption," Arthur said. Alfred's eyes went large in realization.

"Oh, heh heh, yeah…guess not," he said. There was a long moment of silence between them as they returned to the dorms at a leisurely pace, both of them reflecting on the afternoon's events.

"Arthur…you've been kissed before, right?"

"A gentleman doesn't talk of such things," Arthur responded quickly and primly.

"Oh…that's probably a yes. I bet all the girls where you come from can't get enough of you. Every girl wants to be a princess. Maybe after I join a sports team some of the girls will notice me. I tried talking to that girl in our science lab yesterday. She told me my face was gross." Arthur winced, not at all understanding why so many of their classmates were cruel to Alfred. His mother had warned him high school would be difficult, because even well-raised children were immature at times, but Alfred always seemed to get the worst of it.

"She's just trying to make herself feel better by putting someone else down. It's certainly not the behavior of a lady. Trust me, Alfred, you're better off without her. Why do you want a girlfriend so badly anyway? It seems like a waste of time to me," Arthur said.

Alfred shrugged his gangly shoulders. "It would make my parents proud of me, my mom especially."

"Your parents again, hmm? It really matters to you what they think, doesn't it?"

"Of course. Don't you care what your parents think?"

"Honestly, I haven't given much thought to it. My parents aren't the type to tell me what sort of person I should be. They taught me values, of course, and I would never go looking for trouble, but my father doesn't care that I prefer embroidery over soccer or anything like that."

"That sounds kinda nice, actually. Ya know, I've never really told anyone this…but there's a pretty dumb reason for why I always liked superhero comics so much. When I was little, I thought my dad was a secret superhero," Alfred glanced at Arthur's reaction (a small smile) and chuckled at himself. "I know, I know…it was dumb of me, but I once saw this red thing in his closet when I was six or so, and I became _convinced_ he was saving the world when he was away on so-called business trips. I guess…it made it easier for me to deal with him not being home much. Later, I realized it was just one of my mother's formal gowns…not a superhero cape, after all. It was the same year I finally wised up about Santa Clause. Kind of a depressing year, actually," Alfred said, though his tone was amused.

"Yeah, fourteen was hard for me, too," Arthur replied cheekily. Laughing, Alfred cuffed the shorter boy lightly.

"Shut up, jerk! I _wasn't_ fourteen. I was, like, nine or something. Geez…serves me right for pouring out my heart to you. You're so mean to me," Alfred pouted. Grinning, Arthur spun on the stairs so that he was looking down at his roommate for once, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Well, you know I'm quite handy with a needle. I could make you your very own superhero cape. You'll need one if you keep on insisting on this Hero Club idea of yours," Arthur said. He'd meant it as a joke, but Alfred's eyes became as wide as saucers.

"Would you _really_? That would be_ so_ awesome! I could wear it this Halloween!"

"Are you serious? You'd really wear something I made for you?" Arthur asked. While his parents didn't care about his needlework, his older brothers teased him a bit for it. Nobody had ever wanted him to make something for them…certainly not with just hopeful joy in their eyes.

"Hell yeah I would! You're not just teasing, right? You'll really make me a cape? Like a _real_ one?"

Arthur shook his head a bit fondly at his dorky roommate.

"Sure, Alfred. I'll make you the coolest superhero cape you've ever seen," he promised.

Overjoyed, Alfred hurried up the steps and slung his arm around Arthur's shoulders excitedly.

"You are the coolest roommate _ever_, dude!"

Under the weight of Alfred's arm and his energetic, happy grin, Arthur felt a bright smile echo on his own face, and a warm feeling spread all through his chest.

**AN: **A nice, long chapter for you guys. So, the story is moving kinda slow, but I'm really enjoying writing it. I guess it would be safer to say this part of the story is pre-slash, as I have a firmer idea of how it's all going to play out now. I admit I'm struggling a bit to keep it age-appropriate. It's tricky writing young teenagers, because experience level covers such a wide range. However, because Alfred is dorky, I think it's safe to say he could be much older before he gets his first kiss. If anything seems off about it, please let me know. I'm using my younger cousin as a reference point for this, as he's a super nerdy (but fairly good looking) 17 year old who just now started getting into the whole 'i-have-a-girlfriend' phase. He has no idea I'm using him in such a way, and it would probably horrify him if he knew a fictional gay character was partly based off him, lol. On the other hand, I know it's also fairly common for kids/teens to get flirty without directly kissing, so I have lots of plans to slowly torture you guys with that. :P


	7. Hazing Week

**Chapter 7**

Matthew took a deep, bracing breath and opened his bedroom door. He tried to feel confident, but he was flashing back to all those days where he had seemed invisible, as if he were just a ghost in his own life.

His smart, stylish, handsome roommate, who was most definitely never overlooked, glanced up from a travel magazine he was perusing as he sat in the plush armchair.

"I'm glad you've come back. I was worried I might have upset you," Francis said. Maybe Matthew was imagining it, but Francis looked a little guilty almost. "I would hate for us to become like that silly pair down the hall, what with Prince Priss always locking out poor Alfred."

"N-no, I'd never lock you out. I was hoping we could talk a bit, though. I was v-very embarrassed earlier," Matthew confessed. He sat down on the edge of his bed, clutching a big, fluffy white teddy bear that his mother had given him as a birthday gift several years before. Francis had never teased him about his affinity for the stuffed animals, and so he'd finally unpacked a few and liked to cuddle with them when he was relaxing on his bed.

"It was not my intention to embarrass, but I see no reason to be bashful about such things. I am attracted to you, and I think you are attracted to me too, no?"

"Well, yes, but…I don't want you kissing whoever you please."

"I don't want you flirting with Alfred Jones, so it would seem we're at an impasse," Francis replied, though he smiled to soften his words.

"So…do you want to go out?" Matthew asked, nearly squeaking on the words.

"Would it make you feel better about kissing if I was your boyfriend?" Francis asked in reply. Matthew nodded, his pale eyes shining.

"I just…like being seen by you. I don't want you to ignore me. Everyone else can ignore me, but as long as _you_ see me, I'll be happy."

Francis smiled, closing his magazine and setting it aside. He slowly crossed the room, sitting beside Matthew but not invading his personal space this time.

"Ignore you? I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since you got here. I never expected my roommate to be someone so pleasing. You speak French with such a cute accent, and you are not afraid to be who you are. You dress well, you have eyes like the stars back home, you are soft-spoken and alluring…not overbearing like so many here. Matthew, I am very fond of you. Surely you realize this?"

Somehow, the bear was pushed aside, forgotten, and Matthew leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against Francis's soft smile. His romantic roommate tilted his head to the side to improve the kiss, drawing Matthew in like a moth to a flame.

Feeling suddenly shy, Matthew pulled back and blushed under Francis's adoring gaze.

"Thank you for your first kiss. I will treasure it," Francis said sweetly, tucking Matthew's wayward curls behind his ears.

All Matthew's doubts about Francis vanished like smoke. Francis was suave and romantic and absolutely _perfect_. Matthew had never imagined himself with such an amazing boyfriend, but now he had him, and he was on top of the world.

USUK

Alfred was allowed to go visit the gym during second period, which unfortunately was not a period he shared with Arthur. Perhaps if Arthur had been there, he could have distracted his friend, or offered some much needed advice, but as it was, Alfred went to the gym alone that Monday morning.

Like an energetic puppy, he bounded from one table to the next, picking up fliers, magnets, T-shirts, and buttons. Some clubs promised vouchers for nice restaurants to freshmen that joined, while others offered funny things like an upperclassman as a slave for the day.

One table, however, needed to do no recruiting. The rugby/American football table hadn't bothered making posters or signs. Instead, they merely placed the biggest, shiniest trophy Alfred had ever seen next to their signup sheet. It was a championship trophy they had won the previous year against local competition in Moscow, and it was absolutely beautiful.

Of course, Alfred had seen bigger and shinier ones—in the personal office of his father, who had his college football trophies preserved forever in airtight glass cases while his Nobel Peace Prize dusted over in the bottom of some random box. Alfred knew this was the table he was destined to approach, and he knew this was the team he had to join, no matter what.

They snickered as he came up to the table, but Alfred was used to that. He summoned his best smile and tried to walk straighter. The jocks grinned like hyenas eyeing an approaching gazelle.

"I'd like to join," Alfred said, without pre-amble. "I know I'm pretty lightweight, but I'll work hard. I won't ever miss a practice," he promised. The burly, athletic boys laughed, and tossed a clipboard at him. Alfred fumbled to catch it, nearly losing his glasses in the process, but the clipboard slipped to the floor with a clatter. The team laughed. Blushing, Alfred picked up the clipboard and saw that it was a sign-up sheet for try-outs.

"We're pretty selective about who we invite to try-outs, but we always need a good towel boy. Besides, you're President Jone's kid, right? Once we rotate to the campus in the states next year, we expect all kinds of perks from you, got it?"

"Err…You mean I can sign up?" Alfred asked, too afraid to hope. The rugby team rolled their eyes collectively at him, and an older, mean-looking boy flicked a pen at Alfred's forehead. It bounced off harmlessly, but it certainly wasn't a very polite thing to do. Alfred scrambled to pick it up, as he'd done with the clipboard.

"Yeah, four-eyes. Sign your name, show up to try-outs, and we'll see how fast you can run with towels and water bottles. You'll have to get through next week, too. We _won't_ make it easy on you," the Captain said. Alfred eyed their awesome looking leather bomber jackets with envy—each of them had a number on the back, as well as a rugby patch on the arm. Everything about them just looked _awesome_.

"Okay! I'll be there! And I'll run _really_ fast, like the fastest you've ever seen!"

"Leave. Now," the Captain barked. "You're blocking future players."

"Oh, sorry! Sure thing, Captain. Thanks, guys! This is gonna be great!" Alfred turned to leave, but a harsh, mocking voice called him back.

"Hey, fucktard, bring back the clipboard!"

Alfred was shocked by the older boy's insult, but he thought of his father and bit his tongue. Maybe that was just how older boys joked. He could be like them if he tried hard enough, even if it didn't feel so great.

"Sure…err…dickface. Here ya go," he said unsurely. The other boy snatched it from his hand with such force that Alfred flinched, but the Captain put a bracing hand on his teammate's impressive fist.

"He's just a spaz, Mike. Wait till next week. We have our reasons for letting him join, remember?" the Captain half-whispered this, but Alfred was able to hear most of it. He frowned in confusion.

Mike smiled nastily and sat down.

"Right. You've got attitude, kid. I think you'll really fit in. Don't miss try-outs, alright?" the Captain said, addressing him directly. Alfred's hopeful smile returned, a little unsure, but present nonetheless.

"Yeah, sure thing! Bye guys!"

Once he had left, the rugby team members shared looks of malicious glee. Only one, a quiet though very tall Swedish boy remained blank-faced and collected, his blue-green eyes assessing Alfred as he left.

Alfred's next stop was at the French Club's table. After all, where better to meet cute French girls than at their club? Unsurprisingly, he bumped into Francis.

"Alfred, are you lost? These are all the cultural appreciation clubs," Francis said. Alfred grinned mischievously.

"I know! I'm here to join the French club…ya know…to meet girls," Alfred explained in a not-so-quiet whisper. In fact, the girl from his science lab that had rejected him so brutally was now picking up a brochure for the French club. She sneered at Alfred after overhearing his statement and abandoned the brochure, hastily moving away. Francis sighed.

"Hopeless," The blond muttered quietly before thinking of Matthew. His cute little boyfriend would not want him to treat Alfred unkindly. "Alfred, allow me to give you some advice." Alfred, however, was now leering at the girl behind the French Club's table.

"What's up, beautiful?" Alfred asked, smiling cheesily at the pretty brunette girl, ignoring Francis for the moment. The girl arched a thin, perfectly waxed eyebrow at Alfred, unwilling to play nice even if it meant recruiting another member.

"_Alfred_. Stop. Please…before you hurt yourself. You want to meet girls? Join that club, right over there," Francis pointed to the Student Council table, where he knew Arthur's name appeared on the sign-up sheet. Arthur visited the gym during first period, and Francis had looked for at least one club to share with his old childhood friend…if only for more opportunities to show him up. Arthur had only signed up for the Craft Club and the Student Council, and Francis wasn't about to sit in the library knitting doilies once a week just for the chance to tease the fussy Brit.

"The Student Council? But…that's for smart kids. Just 'cause my dad's a politician doesn't mean I know anything about all that stuff…" Alfred said doubtfully. Francis, however, confidently steered him closer.

"The Student Council has nothing to do with politics, really. Sure, some of the members are elected to their posts, but it's really about planning school events. Girls _love_ to plan events. You'll be in a club with all the girls that plan the dances and yet have no dates to ask them to attend. You will be _ridiculously_ popular."

"Are you sure? I don't know…"

"I'm always surrounded by girls, no? _Trust_ me, Alfred. The Student Council will be a good fit for someone as energetic as you. It will give you a chance to meet lots of students, and Arthur and myself have joined as well."

"Really? I can meet girls and hang out with Arthur? Sweet! Thanks, Francis! Man, this is awesome. I really didn't want to have to learn about France. You're a lifesaver!"

"You are…so very lucky to be such a dear friend of Matthew's. Run along now. The Student Council awaits!"

Alfred went bounding off, just as Francis had instructed, allowing the charming blond to share a look of exasperation with the brunette French girl back at the French Club's table.

"_Merci_ for that. I _really_ can't say that enough," she said. Francis smiled and leaned against the table.

"You are very, very welcome. I look forward to seeing you at the club meetings. Now that I'm closer, I can't help but notice…are you wearing L'Heure Bleu? You have the aroma of home. It is making me homesick for Charente."

"Oh! You are the freshman Marquis, are you not? I expected you to be handsome, but I did not expect you to have such refined taste. That's rare for someone so young," she flattered. Francis smirked, leaning in a little closer.

"Not so young as all that," he replied. Then, with a charming grin, "Unless you like freshmen. Then, I promise you, I'm the very youngest."

She giggled, admiring the very expensive clothing Francis wore and appreciating him for many of the same reasons Matthew did. Speaking of Matthew, as second period had officially ended five minutes prior, the students visiting during third period had found their way into the gym…Matthew among them.

From several tables away, he held on tightly to his bear book-bag and watched with hurt violet eyes at the boy he'd spent all the previous night kissing charmed the secretary of the French Club with heart-breaking ease.

USUK

Matthew fled the gym with tears in his eyes, and was running so hard he barely noticed when he barreled past Ivan and Alfred, who had met up as Alfred was leaving the gym and Ivan was entering.

"What the heck happened to Matthew? We gotta go check on him. He might need our help," Alfred said. Obviously in a curious mood, Ivan agreed to tag along. The two boys trailed Matthew to the courtyards, where a familiar scene was playing out.

"Oh, man! I forgot those guys were allowed back at school this week!" Alfred exclaimed. The boys who had previously threatened Matthew had circled around him like vultures in the grey, overcast courtyard, which apparently was the spot they hung out in when they were ditching class. Alfred started to advance, but Ivan stopped him easily with a huge hand.

"These are the guys who beat you up and threatened Matthew…merely because he is homosexual, da?"

"Yeah," Alfred confirmed, still straining a little against Ivan's hand. "And we really need to help Matthew. They'll hurt him!"

"Let me handle it," Ivan said, a down-right sinister look on his face. Surprised by how bloodthirsty the towering boy looked, Alfred finally ceased struggling against him.

"Err…this probably isn't the time or place, but I heard you were in the Russian mafia. It's not just a rumor, is it?"

Ivan flashed him a happy grin. "Not a rumor. I'm going to _really_ enjoy this. Watch me crush them—you might learn something."

Alfred could only trail helplessly in Ivan's wake as he crossed the courtyard, making their presence known. The bullies instantly changed their attitude.

"We weren't giving him trouble! We don't want to be—" the boy was about to say 'suspended,' but he was unable to finish his sentence due to the massive fist that _buried_ into his jaw. The kid fell like a sack of bricks, unresponsive and bleeding sluggishly on the ground.

"Holy crap!" Alfred squeaked. His voice cracked embarrassingly, but nobody noticed.

"My name is Ivan," the Russian boy got his hands on another one of the bullies, and he twisted his arm painfully around behind his back. "Is it not polite in your country to say hello to someone who introduces themselves?"

"H-hello! Hello! For fuck's sake hello!"

"Da! Much better. As I was saying," there was a harsh, cracking noise as the boy's arm gave way and snapped cleanly. He screamed. "My name is Ivan, and I fuck other boys. I've been told you have a problem with this."

"N-no problem! Just let us go!" This was said by a junior who was now struggling to run, but couldn't because Ivan had a firm fistful of his jacket. Matthew and Alfred watched on in wide-eyed horror.

"I'm so glad this was all just a misunderstanding. You see, I thought you had a problem with me fucking my sweet little boyfriend," Ivan said with an innocent, child-like smile. The last remaining bully began to cry and the smell of urine assaulted their noses. Ivan lifted the boy, actually _lifted_, him off the ground and turned him mid-air, so he could see Ivan's grin.

"Tell me, if I don't break your neck right now, would you suck my cock?"

"Y-yes! A-anything! Just let me go!"

Ivan dropped him, a pitiful pile of shaking limbs and piss.

"When your friend wakes up, you tell him that you are all leaving this school. If you talk about what I did to you, my father will find you. He's not as nice as I am. Also, let your friend know you begged to suck my dick right after you pissed your pants, da?"

"Alfred, let's _go_," Matthew whispered, crying steady, silent tears. Alfred was shaken up, but he finally recovered his voice.

"Ivan…you can't just go around breaking people's arms, man! They're gonna kick you out of school! I know they're annoying and violent, dangerous even, but…"

"_No_ buts, American. They are stupid, simple creatures. They've got rich mommies and daddies, but there's only one language they understand, and that language is pain. See? I said you might learn something, and now you have."

"You're wrong!" Alfred insisted. "Ivan, you're my friend, but I'm reporting this. You need help—counseling, or therapy or something! You just _broke his arm_!" Alfred insisted.

Ivan stared at Alfred as if he had just transformed into a unicorn. "After what you just saw, you threaten to report me?" Ivan clarified. Not backing down at all, even though Matthew was now sobbing quite loudly nearby, Alfred shakily took a step closer to Ivan, blue eyes shining.

"They need medical treatment now. We aren't leaving them here. They may be bullies, they may have even deserved that, but what you just did was as bad as them bullying Matthew—worse even!"

"We'll leave, and we won't talk. Shut up, kid! It's not a big deal!" the boy clutching his broken arm said. "You think we want to stay here after this? Fuck that!" The boy who had been punched had woken up, and his friends were encouraging him to stand up more quickly so they could get away.

Alfred wavered.

"See? They agree with me," Ivan said, looking almost confused by Alfred's insistent attitude.

"They're terrified. This is all _wrong_! This isn't what it means to be a member of the Hero Club!" Alfred finally said, his own blue eyes tearing up. A soft voice broke the ensuing silence.

"Did you do this, Ivan?" Toris asked gently. The tall Russian turned to see his shy, soft-spoken boyfriend observing the damage he'd done to the retreating bullies.

"This is who I am," Ivan said simply.

"It's over between us. I think deep down, you're a good person, Ivan. I think your father has done horrible things to you, and you've seen horrible things, and you're so different from everyone here that you don't know how to even begin to fit in, but I can't stay with you when you're proud of doing something like this. I'm changing rooms, and we're not a couple anymore." Toris gave Ivan one last, pained look before he left just as quietly as he'd come.

Ivan frowned darkly, his hands clenching into fists at his side. Alfred took the opportunity to tell Matthew to leave. Still crying, the scared boy fled, no doubt to get a teacher or to lock himself up in his room.

It was just Alfred and Ivan in the courtyard, and Alfred's heart hammered away in his chest, but he refused to back down.

"Ivan, this only happened because you followed me. Let me help make this right. I'm your friend, Ivan, but you _need_ to get some help."

"What will you tell the Headmaster about all this?" Ivan asked. The fury was now gone from his face, and instead he was perfectly calm now. He disinterestedly wiped some blood off his fist with the hem of his jacket.

"I'll tell him the truth. Those guys were bullying Matthew again, and you got into a fight with them. They were scared off and said they were leaving the school. I'll also tell him that if he tries to kick you out, I'll go to the press about how those guys beat me up and harassed Matthew for being gay. I don't want you to get kicked out…I just want you to talk to someone that can help you learn how to handle your anger better. I just want to help you, Ivan," Alfred said.

"To stay in your club…I must talk to the school counselor?" Ivan asked. Alfred nodded, a little amazed that Ivan was still talking to him and hadn't punched him unconscious. "Well, since nobody was willing to let me join their club last year, I cannot afford to get kicked out of yours, now can I? I will talk to someone, if it is that important to you. My father once told me I would know a friend when I met a man with the courage to be my enemy."

"Uh…" Alfred said unsurely. Ivan gave him a small, genuine smile and extended his hand. Confused, Alfred reached to grab it but Ivan hauled him close, his smile serene.

"I could break _your_ arm right now, but you aren't running away. You are afraid of me, I can see that, but you're standing your ground. Even Toris was frightened away, but _you're _still here."

"Arthur's probably not gonna like it, but I'm going to be your friend, Ivan, whether you like it or not," Alfred added with a hesitant, joking grin. Ivan grinned back, as he lowered Alfred back to the ground.

"Despite how unlikely it is, from now on you are my first friend. We will go tell the Headmaster about what happened together."

Unwilling to question such a strange turn of events (and feeling a little like pissing his own pants in relief) Alfred shook Ivan's hand meaningfully before the two made their way to the office.

USUK

"What the _bloody_ hell were you thinking?" Arthur raged. Alfred collapsed onto his bed, feeling boneless. He tiredly put an arm over his eyes.

"Not tonight, please Arthur? I can't decide if the rugby team is going to humiliate me or just beat me brutally, I spent a solid two hours after getting out of the Headmaster's office comforting Matthew who would _not_ stop crying about Francis, only to be ambushed by Toris, who was worried about Ivan even though he dumped him and demanded a new roommate. And let's not forget Ivan, who has now decided for some bizarre reason that I'm his best friend/enemy. I don't even know what that means, but he made one of Matthew's bullies say he'd suck his penis before he peed himself. The guy _literally_ peed his own pants. I thought that only happened in the movies," Alfred said, clearly tired after such a day.

Arthur sighed. He crossed the room and perched on the edge of Alfred's bed, staring at the exhausted boy.

"Just tell me why you're so determined to be Ivan's friend, even at the risk of your life," Arthur asked.

Alfred peeked his eyes open and flashed Arthur a soft smile.

"I may not know much, but I know it really sucks when nobody understands you, and nobody cares to even try," Alfred said. "You've tried getting to know me, and you don't know how much that means to me. Ivan deserves that chance, too."

Arthur felt a flare of jealousy coil in his stomach at Alfred's words (the last thing he wanted was Alfred picturing his friendship with Ivan in the same way he pictured his friendship with himself), but he remembered his promise to Matthew and simply nodded.

"You know, technically the rules for forming a club state that one member must be at least sixteen. It doesn't say they have to be classified as a sophomore. With Ivan as a member, you could make your club official if you had a teacher sponsor."

"Really?" Alfred asked, his blue eyes shining up at Arthur in gratitude.

"But you owe me, because it's going to take a lot of time and cloth to make a superhero cape big enough for Ivan," Arthur's joke earned him a bright, happy smile. Alfred fondly ruffled his hair.

"Nah, I get to be the only hero with an Arthur-cape. It's a new rule I just made. Only the president of Hero Club gets to wear the cape."

"Ha! And you've just declared yourself president, have you? No election?"

"You'd vote for me, and your vote counts for the most. It's like the electoral college, and you're California."

"In American English, that's a compliment, right?"

"Well, yeah, but California's kind of fruity," Alfred teased. Arthur grabbed his pillow and whacked him with it, provoking a pillow fight that lasted a good ten minutes until Alfred managed to triumph by wrestling Arthur to the floor. He sat proudly atop his pillow-less roommate, smirking down at him.

"I win. That settles it. I get to be president forever!"

"Alright, alright, just get off me already, you big oaf!" Arthur replied. He firmly squashed the protesting, random little voice that whispered in his brain, _'It feels rather good, though, to be so close to him…' _

Arthur wanted nothing to do with thoughts like those.

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Alfred didn't tell Arthur when try-outs were, but somehow Arthur found out and showed up anyway. Alfred would have been touched by the gesture…if he hadn't been so embarrassed to be watched.

It was almost painful to watch Alfred play sports. If he was flat out terrible, then it wouldn't have been quite so bad, Arthur decided, after a half-hour of watching. What made it so horrible was that Alfred _did_ show potential…just enough to worsen his inevitable embarrassment. For example, he'd manage to outrun all the other boys down the field, but then he'd trip up when it came time to catch the ball. Or, he'd manage to catch the ball and score, but it would be in the wrong goal. It was utterly frustrating to watch him come so close, only to fail each and every time in such an awkward fashion.

Furthermore, the club was rough. Though the boys primarily played rugby, they practiced American football as well, since many of the team members were Americans and they wanted to compete against local teams when they were in the states the following year. While only the ball carrier was tackled during rugby, when they switched to American football, any player was fair game.

Arthur winced in the stands as Alfred disappeared under a pile of massive upperclassmen and freshman hopefuls. The ball, he noted, was a good fifteen feet away and had been nowhere near Alfred when he was flattened to the ground. It seemed like they were trying to prove something to Alfred—to punish him for even daring to sign up. Maybe they were even trying to intimidate him into giving up and leaving the field as a limping, bruised loser.

"But if that's what they're after, they're underestimating Alfred," Arthur muttered to himself. At least, he thought he was alone.

"I should have known you'd come to watch. I bet Alfred actually asked you to come, though," Matthew said, sitting gracefully on the bleacher next to Arthur.

"No, I overheard another boy in history mention when the try-outs were. Alfred didn't tell me not to come, but he certainly didn't ask me to be here."

"Same for me. How's he doing?" Matthew asked.

"Terribly. If they keep smearing him into the grass much more, there won't be anything left of him. I wish his father and mother could be here to see how much pain the other boys are inflicting on him. I blame all of this on them."

"Why?" Matthew asked. Arthur was a bit surprised.

"Alfred hasn't told you? They put incredible pressure on him—not that he realizes it. He thinks the world of their opinion."

"Oh," Matthew gave him a small smile, "Alfred never talks about his parents with me. He seems to open up more to you, though. I guess he really trusts you."

"Why wouldn't he trust you?" Arthur asked.

"He sees me as someone he's got to look out for—someone to protect. He doesn't tell me things that might worry me or make me sad. I've noticed that about him. I'm glad he can talk to you, though. Nobody can be happy and cheerful all the time, not even Alfred."

"Well, he's not going to be happy and cheerful after this." Arthur winced as a huge boy slammed into Alfred's thin frame, burying him into the grass.

"I could help you patch him up this afternoon. I'm avoiding Francis anyway."

"Flirting again?" Arthur guessed.

"He can't help it. I really shouldn't be so sensitive about it, but it hurts me every time. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better to date someone like Alfred—someone that nobody else notices."

"Matthew…" Arthur said warningly. Matthew grinned, a bit mischievously.

"I said _like_ Alfred. Besides, Alfred seems taken with that snotty red-head girl in science."

"She's awful. I can't stand her," Arthur practically growled. Matthew just shook his head fondly.

"Sometimes it's cute how possessive of him you are…a little creepy, but kind of cute, too."

"Belt up, Matthew," Arthur replied. Then he added, for good measure, "I'm not possessive of Alfred…at least not anymore. I gave you my word, and a gentleman takes his word seriously."

"But you can't stand her?"

"Ugh, _God _no. I don't know what he possibly sees in her. She's rude, for starters, and she doesn't give him the time of day, and as his lab partner she constantly nags him to do better work. He's tried to befriend her, but she's so high and mighty she doesn't notice how hard he tries to impress her," Arthur fretted. Ducking his face into the soft fur of his teddy bear backpack, Matthew had to chuckle. Arthur glared. "What on earth are you snickering for? I don't see anything funny about Alfred's horrible taste in girls."

"Oh, nothing really…except I was just thinking she sounds a lot like you, back when the school year first started. That's all."

Whatever Arthur might have replied (probably nothing but indignant spluttering) a loud whistle from the Captain indicated try-outs were over.

"He'll be embarrassed if he realizes we both watched him do so poorly. I'll head out now, but let him know I wish him luck!" Matthew said. Arthur waved him off, too distracted by the limping, staggering form of his roommate down on the field to care whether Matthew hung around longer or left.

When Alfred finally reached him, he slumped against Arthur's shoulder gratefully.

"Even my blood hurts," he said. Arthur struggled a bit with the confining helmet, but managed to tug it off his hurt best friend. Alfred's hair was flattened against his head, a sweaty mess.

"Where are your glasses?" Arthur asked.

"Didn't wear 'em—didn't want…them to get broken," Alfred said.

"Probably for the best, but it couldn't have done much to improve your game, not being able to see, and all," Arthur said.

"Nah…I would have sucked…even if I could see the ball better. But I'm not trying out to be a player…I just had to survive try-outs _with_ the players. They just…want me as a…towel boy." Alfred was panting, pausing between phrases to fill his lungs with desperately needed air.

"Oh…err…I'm terribly sorry you didn't make the cut, Alfred," Arthur said, hating that all his friend's pain had been for nothing.

"Wha? Nothin' to be…sorry 'bout! I'm…I'm on the…team…even if I'm…jus' a towel…boy." Alfred ended this long, drawn out sentence by promptly slipping towards the ground, no longer able to stand. He'd been leaning very heavily on Arthur, and now it seemed all the damage he'd taken was catching up to him.

"Alfred!" Arthur said worriedly, no longer able to hold the heavier boy up. Instead, Arthur sunk to the ground with him, hoping the other boy didn't lose consciousness.

"Mind…if we…rest here…a bit? My legs feel…like jelly," Alfred said. Struggling to both prop up the taller boy while holding his helmet, Arthur tossed the helmet aside and hooked his hands under Alfred's shoulder pads.

"Alright there?" he demanded. Alfred blinked at him woozily, as if he were intoxicated.

"You have…really pretty eyes," Alfred said, before his own blue eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward into Arthur's arms.

"We need to get him out of those pads," a deep voice grunted from nearby. Arthur glanced up desperately, relieved to see one of the rugby players had doubled back and was going to help him. In an impressive show of strength, the large teen flipped Alfred over and began to unlace his heavy football pads.

"They did him up too tightly—he can't breathe," the upperclassman explained. Finally, he pulled the large garment off and Arthur winced at the damage. Alfred's arms were already purpling up with bruises, as well as what Arthur could see of the taller boy's chest and stomach.

"What do we do? Do I go get the nurse?" Arthur was feeling almost frantic with worry, and as nice as the taciturn rugby player was being, Arthur didn't trust him alone with his vulnerable friend. He was desperately wishing Matthew hadn't left early.

"I'll just carry him. Step back a bit," the Swedish boy said before easily hefting Alfred into his arms.

"Why are you helping him?" Arthur asked, his distrust manifesting. The tall, heavy-set boy simply shrugged, and didn't reply. This didn't set Arthur to ease, and so he stuck right by the boy's side, and watched him like a hawk until he safely laid Alfred down on a bed in the hospital wing. The nurse bustled out with an annoyed look on her face.

"Not this one again!" she said. Arthur couldn't agree with her agitation more. He turned around to further question the big rugby player, but as if he'd never been there, the older boy was simply gone.

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**A/N: **Yay for Berwald/Sweden! He's got a bigger part coming up soon. But just so you realize how bad all the kids ostracize Ivan, even the rugby team wouldn't let him come to tryouts the previous year. That's why he's not on the rugby team, despite being super tall and built like Berwald. And yes, Toris finally had a bit too much of Ivan. While I enjoy them as a pairing, I want the Hero Club to consist of the original allies primarily, and while Toris was friends with Alfred briefly, and in some sort of relationship with Ivan in the series, he's not a main allied power. Trying to keep it somewhat cannon, his new roommate will be Poland.

Oh! And one reviewer was super helpful and pointed out an issue with one of the French phrases I used in an earlier chapter. She/he seemed worried I'd take offense, but I'm really very grateful. Please don't hesitate to point out mistakes you spot, as I don't have a beta. Also, I wanted to thank everyone who's been reviewing. I read what you guys say and it immediately makes me start the next chapter. It's a huge motivational boost, so thanks!


	8. Arthur's New Friend: Yao Arrives!

**Chapter 8**

With the exception of the brutal try-outs at the end of the week, Arthur had very much enjoyed Recruiting Week. The Student Council president, a very organized, sensible British girl, had pulled him out of math during a particularly boring lesson, just to take a nice stroll around the school gardens and talk with him about his future ambitions in the club. All the upperclassmen in student council made a point to learn his name and they all took time out of their schedule to explain to the new members what role they played in the club and what their responsibilities were. Arthur found them to be mature, charming company, and imagined some of them might even be his future co-workers in the British government.

Then hazing week started. Thankfully, the Music Club and the Crafts Club thought the practice of hazing was ridiculous and didn't demand anything of him. For hopeful council members, however, it meant they were responsible for planning and organizing the first official school trip to London in four days. With no help from the upperclassmen (unless it came in the form of harsh criticism) they had to organize a trip for roughly 200 students, including collecting permission slips and other various forms, organizing the itinerary for the day, managing the budget for the event, which was not much, and promoting the trip. This task was made even more difficult considering the freshmen Arthur had to work with. For starters, there was Francis. He barely showed up to the meetings on time, and even when he was present, it seemed he was only there to ruffle Arthur's feathers. He contradicted him at every turn, seemingly just for the fun of arguing with him. He didn't understand the importance of their task, and Arthur was constantly having to pick up after his slack.

Next, there was a hot-headed German boy who was an asset when it came to keeping control of everyone during meetings, but he had absolutely no patience and caused one meek girl to resign from the club because of how brutally he snapped at her one day. The only two members that could tolerate the German's bossiness and temper were equally useless to Arthur— Feliciano was a total airhead, and Kiku refused to talk to anyone or commit to actually _doing_ anything. He seemed to only be in attendance because his two friends had joined. Of course, there was Alfred, who Arthur felt terrible asking anything of because the poor boy was practically in a body cast by day two of hazing week, and it wasn't like anyone would take him seriously when he was wearing such an odd assortment of ridiculous women's clothing per demand of the rugby team. There were a few giggly girls that could get work done if he wasn't in the vicinity, but Arthur hadn't figured that out till day two, and precious time had already been wasted.

Thankfully, there was Wang Yao.

He was the firstborn son of a very important Chinese business man, and he knew how to get things done. For the most part, he was content to follow Arthur's directions, unless he was suggesting useful improvements. He and Arthur quickly became an unstoppable force of organization and accomplishment. If it hadn't been for Wang, Arthur wouldn't have gotten anything done in his classes that week, and he probably would have dropped out of the club, too.

The upperclassmen officers of the student council sat idly in the back of the room, as they had done all week, merely observing and criticizing. At first, it had been unnerving and chaotic, but once Arthur took control, they'd largely been silent. After all, despite the difficulties Arthur was facing, there was not much he did that could be criticized.

"Alright, this meeting is in session. First, let's review what we covered last time. Wang?"

"Of course," Wang flipped open his school bag and produced an organizer decorated with cute pandas. Apparently, his family was responsible for developing many of the Chinatowns in various places, and so despite being extremely wealthy, Wang carried around strange nick-knacks and kept them all in a knock-off backpack. "You assigned permission slips to Ludwig's team, and you gave Francis the responsibility of securing a food establishment for the lunch break."

"Thank you, Wang. How are we on permission slips?" Arthur asked. Ludwig pulled up his e-mail and scanned his inbox.

"I began distributing electronic copies and the response time was finally acceptable. We have permission slips from 183 students, and the deadline ends in four hours. I will be paying a visit to those who have not submitted their forms yet." Arthur winced at the underlying threat in Ludwig's voice, but he wasn't about to scold one of the few members who was cooperating and taking his job seriously.

"That's close to the number we expected, though I might need to call a few places to—" Whatever Arthur was about to say was interrupted by a student entering the meeting room late.

"Alfred...that is just pathetic. Haven't you had enough of that stupid rugby team yet?" Francis asked, peeking up from a book he was casually reading. Alfred sheepishly entered, looking humiliated and exhausted. He wore his usual school uniform, but on top of the clothes, he had on women's lingerie today, accentuated by a frilly pink tutu. He sported two black eyes and a twisted ankle (injuries from "practice") as well as heavily bandaged hands—he'd had to cook dinner for the rugby team and, not knowing anything about cooking, he'd burned himself pretty badly. He hadn't been able to hold a pen or pencil all week, and his teachers weren't being very sympathetic about it.

"Sorry I'm—omph!" Alfred (who Arthur now realized was missing his glasses) tripped over a book bag and fell flat on his face. He didn't get up for a long moment, seemingly unable to muster the strength or the will. Abandoning his spot at the head of the table, Arthur hurried to his roommate's side and gently looped an arm around his.

"What happened to your glasses?"

"They used them instead of the ball. They're somewhere on the rugby field, but I haven't had a chance to go search for them."

"Alfred, I've about had it with these bloody bullies. I've a mind to go tell this Captain of yours that if you come back from practice with one more bruise, I'm going to...to..."

"Fuss at him?" Alfred asked with a warm, fond smile. Arthur sighed as he helped Alfred into a chair.

"I was thinking more of taking my foil along and running him through."

"_That_ would be awesome."

"Yes, well, I mean it—you can't keep enduring such abuse. Take Ivan to practice with you next time. He follows you around everywhere else, so you might as well put him to good use."

"I don't need Ivan to fight my battles for me, and I'm not here to talk about rugby. We've got a trip or something to organize, right?" Alfred said, trying to shift attention off of their rather private conversation. The members of the club were all watching them, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Right. I was saying I might need to call a few places to adjust the numbers. Speaking of numbers, where's Basch?" Arthur asked, noting for the first time that the Swiss boy was not sitting at the table.

"After Ludwig scared Elise into quitting, he isn't participating anymore," Yao informed.

"Ludwig," Arthur said with a sigh, "Basch was managing our finances. I'm afraid we desperately need him. Can't I persuade you to apologize to Elise and convince them to come back?" Arthur asked. Ludwig looked irritated by the request, but Feliciano smiled brightly.

"Sure we can! Ludwig is such a meanie to the pretty girls! I will talk to her, no problem!"

"Err...thanks, Feliciano. Now, onto the lunch venue. Francis?"

"None were suitable," Francis said, without glancing up from his book. Arthur scowled, his impressive eyebrows forking downwards in displeasure.

"_Explain_," Arthur demanded. Francis glanced up, smirking roguishly.

"They all have the misfortune of being British, therefore the food in inedible." Francis had the audacity to wink at him.

"Argh! I'm going to—"

"Do you need something to throw?" Yao asked professionally.

"Yes. Something heavy," Arthur demanded crisply. Yao quickly produced a cheap looking, imitation jade dragon. "Thank you, Yao," Arthur said, hefting the dragon back like a baseball. Just as Francis was beginning to look concerned, the President politely cleared her throat.

"Though tempting...we generally frown upon throwing heavy objects in meetings, Arthur," she said, her tone suggesting she could think of a few people she'd like to chunk things at in her own circle.

"Oh, err, right. Ever so sorry for my momentary slip," Arthur said primly. He returned the dragon to Yao, who tucked it away in his bookbag. Snickering now that he was safe again, Francis returned to his book.

"I have secured a large, authentic British pub. The food will be nasty, but I suppose that is part of the cultural experience. It should be large enough to comfortably sit groups of fifty, so we'll have to either find a second location, or do four different lunch times."

"Let's organize them into groups and rotate the lunch times. Finding another pub this close to Friday is a headache I don't want to deal with. Ludwig, your team can organize them into groups."

"By student ID or in alphabetic order?" Ludwig asked.

"We'll go with student ID. We already sit in alphabetic order in class, so this will mix up the groups."

"What do you need me to do, Arthur?" Alfred asked hopefully.

"Err...you can staple...no, forgot about your hands. You can...help Feliciano convince Elise and Basch to come back. Just don't try to flirt with Elise," Arthur said. Francis arched an eyebrow at Arthur suggestively and the Brit continued hastily, "Not because I care who you flirt with, of course, but because Basch wouldn't like it very much."

"Considering how I look this week, I don't think any attempts to flirt are going to be very successful, but you can count on me, Arthur! I'll get them to come back no matter what it takes!"

"Thank you, Alfred. I'm sure you and Feliciano will do a fine job. Now, before the meeting concludes, we need to solve the transportation issue."

"We can give out jet packs! London by air—it'd be super cool!" Alfred contributed. Arthur's smile remained fixed on his face, not wavering for a second.

"Anyone? Any ideas?"

"Fine, what about hot air balloons?" Alfred asked.

"Nobody has any suggestions?" Arthur said.

"Are you ignoring me?" Alfred asked, rather cutely.

"What about your famous triple decker buses?" Yao asked. Arthur nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"I considered renting out a tourist bus fleet as well, but it's much more costly than I anticipated. Without Basch here, I can't say for certain, but I believe the budget only allows us to secure the buses for roughly two hours, but that will mean we have to cut the museum, since it charges admission."

"Any other ideas?" Arthur asked. "No? Well I was considering the logistics of public transportation. Using the undergound wouldn't work for the entire itinerary, but it will serve to get everyone to most locations. We'll need to include a guide on using the trains in their information packets. Meghan, I hoped you would put that together, since you're a fellow Brit and I hoped you you would know your way around London."

"Sure thing, Prince Arthur," a girl sitting near the back agreed with a dreamy voice. She and her friends had joined the club seemingly for the sole purpose of listening to Arthur speak. That would have been ideal normally, but they also seemed rather hung up on the idea that one of them would become his girlfriend. Francis had jokingly started calling them his fanclub. Arthur pointedly ignored all such talk.

"So, the groups will be on separate paths with the exception of the Changing of the Guard ceremony at 11—we'll all have to be there at the same time to see it. Not that it's anything exciting, but for some reason, foreigners seem to particularly enjoy it."

"Is that the thing with the guys in the big furry hats?" Alfred asked, grinning hugely in anticipation. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Alfred. Those men are my grandmother's guards. Which brings me to my next point. I want this outing to be exceptional, since it is our first duty as Student Council members. I thought it would be enjoyable for some students to have tea with my grandmother and myself during lunch at Buckingham Palace, instead of eating lunch at the pub. Of course, it must be a limited number, so I thought we could do a raffle. This would raise money for the club, and generate interest in the outing."

"How _is _your grandmother doing? She is such a charming lady," Francis questioned.

"She's quite well, thank you," Arthur replied.

"You mean we'd get to meet the _Queen_? Can we buy tickets yet? I'll take a hundred! I don't care how much they cost!" Meghan exclaimed. Arthur blushed at her obvious enthusiasm for his idea and produced a roll of tickets from his bag.

"I was going to get your opinion on how much we should charge per ticket."

"Ask for fifty—the students here can easily pay that and more," Francis said.

"Fifty bucks? That's a lot of money, dude! How about five?" Alfred rebutted.

"I agree with Alfred. Raffle tickets are not supposed to be so pricey. Five pounds sounds like an acceptable amount for a ticket," Yao said.

"Alright, then we're settled on five," Arthur declared.

"Can I buy all the tickets now?" the girl sitting beside Meghan asked.

"With a limit on how many you can buy—ten should be the maximum," Yao added.

"That sounds fair, thank you, Yao," Arthur said. We will need someone to post these fliers in the common room, and pass a few out at lunch tomorrow. Kiku, can you help me manage ticket sales?" Arthur asked. The Japanese boy shifted in his seat, frowning slightly.

"I suppose. It depends."

"Kiku, I'm afraid I must have yes or no for an answer. I understand if you're too busy this week with other obligations," Arthur said. Kiku seemed flustered, but finally nodded.

"Yes. I will help you sell tickets...if it is absolutely necessary," he said, in heavily accented English. He seemed uncomfortable speaking in front of others, and the small exchange had made him flush with color. Oblivious to his discomfort, Feliciano patted him enthusiastically on the back.

"See? I told you joining a club would be super fun!"

"Alright, can you sum up the meeting for us, Yao?" Arthur asked.

"Certainly. Feliciano and Alfred are in charge of convincing our treasurer and Elisa to return to tomorrow's meeting. Ludwig will continue processing permission slips and will organize the students into four groups. Meghan and her friends are responsible for assembling the information about using the public transportation system, and Kiku and Arthur will handle ticket sales for the special lunch with the Queen."

"I think that covers it. We've handled lunch, transportation, and the itinerary is almost final. Does anyone have any questions or concerns?" Arthur asked.

"I think only one person should win the raffle...and it should _totally_ be a date," Meghan said. Arthur blushed, shifting the papers in front of him simply to occupy his hands.

"My grandmother was more than happy to accommodate a group of ten, and I am very opposed to the idea of raffling off a date in general, even more so when it is with myself."

"Yeah, that's a super dumb idea," Alfred added, shooting an uncharacteristically annoyed look at Meghan. She practically growled at him.

"Oh, and like jetpacks was an intelligent plan? I don't understand why you get to room with Prince Arthur—I thought girls had to room with other girls," Meghan spat back, alluding to Alfred's feminine garments. None of the other rugby recruits had been forced to wear them—only Alfred.

"You're just jealous that I have a bigger cup size than you," Alfred replied smugly.

"Alllright, and on that note, this meeting is officially adjourned. Come on, Alfred, let's go find your glasses," Arthur said.

"Really? You're gonna help me look?" Alfred said hopefully.

"Hey! We can help, too, right guys? Us club members have to stick together now!" Feliciano chirruped.

Ludwig looked annoyed and Kiku remained silent, but the trio followed Feliciano's lead anyway.

"I'm sure Matthew will want to help as well. He'd probably still in his book club meeting, but once he's done, we'll join you on the field," Francis offered.

"I have a metal detector in my room. You may borrow it, if you like," Yao offered.

"Wow, guys, thanks! You're all way nicer than the rugby team," Alfred said.

"You know who else would be nicer? The art club members. It's not too late to join," Arthur suggested. Alfred shook his head stubbornly.

"I told you I don't want to join some sissy art club!"

"Alright, whatever you say...though I think it's much more sissy to prance about in women's knickers and a tutu."

Unable to argue with that, Alfred sullenly followed after Arthur and some of the other Student Council members to the rugby field.

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Alfred had never been so desperate for a week to end. He was in pain (_so_ much pain) and he was pretty sure there would be pictures of him in the tabloids soon, sporting women's clothing and looking like a weak loser. This was the reason that he deemed it time to write another e-mail home. After typing his parent's e-mail addresses with agonizing slowness in the recipient box, Alfred tried to think of what to say. From his spot on the couch, Arthur watched his painfully slow typing.

"I can type it for you, if you like. You can't do much with those bandages," Arthur stated. With a thankful smile, Alfred carried his laptop across the room and passed it to Arthur, plopping down beside him.

"Oh, I thought you were writing your essay," Arthur said.

"Nope! I write to my parents every week. Okay, start off with, 'Dear Mom and Dad, I'm having a great week!' Make sure to use a smiley face after that part," Alfred said. Arthur simply stared at him.

"You're not joking, are you?" Arthur said. Alfred just looked confused.

"Guys can use smiley faces, too. Geez, Arthur, get in touch with your feminine side some time."

"That's not what I was referring to...oh, whatever, I typed your blatant lie. What now?"

"Say, 'The rugby team is really warming up to me. I scored a touchdown today, and that girl in science lab told me she'd go out with me. I know you'll be really happy that I have a girlfriend now, Mom.' Got all that, Arthur?" Alfred asked. Arthur, however, had stopped typing.

"You...you're dating her now? You didn't mention it," Arthur said.

"Well, I don't think it really counts. I'm not allowed to talk to her in the halls or outside of class, I can't touch her in any way whatsoever, and I have to do all our lab work. Plus, she made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone we were dating. You don't count, though. You're my best friend—I tell you everything!"

"Alfred..." Arthur trailed off helplessly. He couldn't think of anything else to say, though, so he dutifully typed what Alfred had dictated, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

"Okay, say, 'But I gotta warn you guys some pictures might leak out that aren't so great. This week was hazing week on the rugby team, and I had to do a lot of embarrassing stuff. Don't worry, Dad, I only cried once! I'm hanging in there—I definitely won't give up!' Use three exclamation points so he knows I really mean that part," Alfred said.

"Please say you're almost done. I can't take much more of this," Arthur said, everything inside him protesting the pushing of each key.

"Sorry I've been such a bother this week," Alfred said, misunderstanding Arthur's statement. The British boy could no longer fight the urge that had possessed him since nearly the start of the week. He put Alfred's laptop aside and stood up so he could rant properly.

"This is _ridiculous_," Arthur began. "Your rugby mates are total tossers! Tomorrow's the last day of hazing week, and I'm scared about what they might try to do to you. _Please_, Alfred, give up on this stupid notion of fitting in with those meat-heads! You're _not_ like them, and that _isn't _ a bad thing!"

"You don't understand how much this means to me. I _have_ to be on that team. It's more important than anything else I do this year! I know they aren't the nicest guys, but once they see how hard I train, they'll be nicer to me. They just don't take me seriously yet, that's all."

"I'm going with you to practice tomorrow," Arthur said firmly. Alfred stubbornly met his eyes.

"No. It's against the rules. If you show up, they could kick me out. I _don't_ want your help," Alfred insisted. Their tense argument was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ignoring Arthur's annoyed look, Alfred limped past him and opened the door.

"Hey Matty. What's up?"

"Nothing much, I just wanted to check on you. You didn't look so good during last period today. Practice wasn't too rough I hope?" Matthew asked.

"No way! It's getting way better. I actually liked that dress they had me wear today. I think it brought out the blue in my eyes," Alfred joked weakly. Matthew, however, just sighed.

"Please be careful tomorrow. Francis overheard something today that has us both worried. We think the rugby players are planning something...something big. Francis thought he heard your name mentioned, but he couldn't be sure."

"Nah, you're just worried for no reason, Matty. I'm tough. They've probably got a wedding dress or something for me tomorrow, but it's only a little fun and games. How about you? The book club isn't too bad on hazing, are they? I bet they're making you read a ton of stuff," Alfred said, as if this were a fate worse than death. Matthew chuckled and shook his head.

"It's been really fun. We did some writing prompts yesterday afternoon that gave me some new ideas for the comic. I guess you won't be able to draw anything anytime soon, though, eh?"

Alfred glanced at his thickly wrapped hands with a painful grimace. "Sorry, buddy. Probably not. But I'm kinda behind on schoolwork anyway this week. Maybe next week I'll have more time for the comic," Alfred said. Finally noticing Arthur sitting on his bed with a fierce scowl on his face, Matthew peeped a little hello to him before saying goodnight and begging Alfred once more to be careful. As soon as the door clicked shut, Arthur stomped into the bathroom, practically slamming the door in his wake.

Alfred slumped onto his bed, silently praying Arthur would forgive him for what he was going to do that night.

USUK

"Did you come alone?" Mike asked gruffly. Alfred nodded nervously. It was the middle of the night, and Alfred sat in the locker room surrounded by the rugby team. All the other freshman recruits had been given their brand new, brown leather jackets, but Alfred still hadn't earned his, according to the Captain. He opened a cardboard box sitting on a nearby bench and pulled out the jacket. Alfred's eyes lit up with desire. On the back, the number 50 was emblazoned proudly, and the patches on the arm would tell everyone _he_ was an athlete. One day, Alfred hoped his jacket would be covered with championship patches, too, and a big C on the chest for team captain. It was a standard size jacket, designed to fit the older, burly teens, and it looked like it would be about six sizes too big for him.

But it was _perfect_, and Alfred had never wanted something so badly.

"If you want to earn this jacket, you have to do one more, tiny little thing for us. You know the hallway of portraits outside the Headmaster's office? Well, you're going to give them all a face lift." A bag full of spray paint was tossed at him.

"You want me to...vandalize them?" Alfred asked nervously.

"Not _just _vandalize them. We want it to be so offensive that they close the hallway down. Take pictures to prove you did it," the Captain said. "If you really go through with it, the jacket's yours. Don't worry about the fallout. We already got a guy we're going to pin it on. If you do it, you'll be a member of the team. We won't let anybody fuck with you anymore, and we'll look out for you."

"I don't know..."

"Think about it, four-eyes. You wanna write your daddy to tell him you sprayed a little paint and made it onto the rugby team, or that you wussed out and joined the fucking craft club with your gay little roommate?"

For once, Alfred was so internally conflicted that he didn't stand up against someone teasing Arthur. He stared at the spray paint cans with a heavy heart.

"O-okay. I'll do it."

USUK

They came for Alfred during fourth period. At first, Arthur was terribly confused as to why a police officer was present, but then all the pictures of the Headmaster's hall that had been plastered everywhere that morning flashed into his mind's eye and he realized that he'd failed to protect his roommate—Alfred's true hazing had taken place the night before.

"Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed, unable to believe his roommate would have done something so incredibly stupid. Looking scared but resolute, Alfred stood up from his desk, quietly collected his things, and went with the officer and the school official. He was gone for the rest of the period.

At lunch, Arthur could hardly sit still. Ivan cut his meat with far more force than was necessary, and Matthew nervously watched the doors of the cafeteria, hoping against hope that Alfred would come bouncing in with a big grin like usual.

Alfred didn't enter, but the rugby team did. They were laughing and rough-housing with each other, gloating over their evil act. Arthur acted without thinking. He was gone from the table before Francis could grab hold of him. A hush fell over the cafeteria as Arthur stomped his way up to the Captain, the biggest one of them all save the ever-silent Swedish boy, and shoved him as hard as he could.

"How _dare_ you manipulate someone like Alfred! He would have never done such a thing on his own! I _know_ your responsible for this, and if you've jeopardized his entire education over your _stupid, _cruel—" Arthur was cut off mid-tirade when his roommate finally managed to squeeze through the throng of burly athletes, brown leather jacket sagging off his skinny shoulders.

"Easy, Arthur! Everything's okay! I was gonna be in a lot of trouble, and the guys tried to help me out of it by blaming someone else, but I told the Headmaster that I was responsible, and that I was really, really sorry, and he said as long as I do custodial duty for the rest of the year, he'll let it go. Isn't that great? And look! I earned my jacket!"

Arthur was embarrassed, and frustrated, and he felt like Alfred had betrayed him terribly by truly joining the rugby team. He frowned coldly at Alfred's beaming face, causing the light in the other boy's eyes to dim instantly.

"You're a stupid, gullible, naive _idiot_, and you look _ridiculous_ in that stupid jacket! I _hate_ you, Alfred Jones! I hope your new friends are everything you hope they are, because right now, I can't stomach looking at you. Move your crap to Ivan's room. I want _nothing_ to do with a boy that spray painted a giant _dick_ over a painting of my _grandmother_!"

Arthur pushed past the boys on the rugby team and fled the cafeteria, leaving a shell-shocked roommate in his wake.

"Shake it off, Spaz. He's just jealous 'cause of all the tail you're gonna get now that you made the team. Come on," the Captain said, cuffing Alfred heavily on his shoulder and steering him towards the table where the rugby players sat.

Alfred felt terrible, and for the first time, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't manage to smile.

USUK

Arthur decided to help Alfred out one final time by actually tossing all his things into the hallway. Francis and Matthew stood by helplessly as he did so, and Ivan watched him with disproving eyes.

"Arthur, you _really_ should talk to him. You know Alfred probably didn't even know he was spray painting your grandmother's portrait..." Matthew reasoned. In response, Arthur kicked Alfred's empty suitcase out into the hallway.

"Come now, this is very undignified. Alfred is a simple boy. You knew how badly he wanted to make the team. He probably would have done anything they asked. So a few paintings were ruined. Isn't that better than them all ganging up to beat him bloody?" Francis asked. Arthur scowled fiercely.

"He shouldn't associate with them at all! _You_ weren't there when a police officer came to escort him out of class. A _police officer_. He broke the law because of those idiots! I simply can't be friends with someone who can be so easily pushed around by anyone that waves a trophy at him!"

"This is what his father expects of him, da? You cannot understand what it means to have a father like Alfred's...or like mine. He must be loyal to his family, and the demands they have placed on him. Otherwise, he will never become a man," Ivan said. At that moment, Yao came down the hallway, his eyes widening in alarm when he saw all the commotion.

"I came to give you the rough draft of the information packet for tomorrow. If now is a bad time, though..."

"Yao is sensible. I'm sure _he _agrees with me."

"Regarding Alfred?" Yao asked, scanning his eyes over the American boy's things heaped messily in the hallway.

"Yes, regarding Alfred," Arther snapped.

"Let me see if I understand the situation. Alfred's parents want him to join the rugby team, but _you _want him to join the art club. What does _Alfred_ want?" Yao asked wisely.

"I just want my best friend back. I returned the jacket," Alfred said meekly, appearing at the other end of the hallway. He glanced nervously at everyone present, and cast a sad look over his disheveled things. "I'm sorry I messed up your grandma's painting. I didn't know it was her, honest. I know you said you hated me...but I'll do whatever it takes to make it right! I'll join the art club, and I'll paint you a new picture of your grandma. Even better than the one I messed up," Alfred said.

Arthur's crossed arms fell to his sides in surprise.

"You...you really gave them the jacket back? After everything you went through to get it...you gave it back for me?"

"That's what you wanted, right? Besides, you said I looked dumb in it. It was too big anyway, and, and..." Alfred's eyes had filled with tears, and they began to slip down his cheeks. Still, he kept trying to convince Arthur he was fine, a shaky smile on his face. "I don't even need a jacket here half the time. It was r-really itchy, and I'd much rather have a superhero cape..."

Quite suddenly, Alfred's arms were full of his shorter roommate.

"You're _such _an idiot."

"But are we friends again?" Alfred asked hopefully. He tentatively wrapped his arms around Arthur's shoulders hugging him briefly before the boys separated.

"Of course we're friends. I don't hate you, Alfred, and...and if the bloody jacket means that much to you, then you shouldn't have to give it up on my account. Go get it back, before they find a new towel boy to push around," Arthur said. Alfred wiped at his sky blue eyes, his smile becoming impossibly huge.

"Ya mean it, Arthur?"

"Of course I mean it. Just _promise_ me you'll be careful. You can't just do everything blindly that they tell you to do," Arthur insisted. Alfred nodded energetically, too happy to really absorb Arthur's warning.

"Okay, I promise! I'm gonna go get my jacket back!" He started to run off, but then he seemed to remember that all his things were in the hallway. He glanced at Ivan awkwardly, and then at Arthur.

"Did you still want me to move my stuff to Ivan's room?"

"No, of course not. I'll put your things back. I shouldn't have made such a mess," Arthur said. Grinning once more, Alfred shot off down the hallway.

"Wow. You two are super gay for each other. Here's that paperwork. Just let me know if any changes need to be made," Yao said, leaving the packet on top of Alfred's fallen suitcase. Arthur flushed in embarrassment.

"Yao! We aren't...that is to say...I'm most definitely _not_..." Arthur stuttered.

"Tell yourself whatever you like, little boy, but Alfred would most definitely claim you...if he knew what his dick was for, that is," Ivan said with an amused grunt before ambling off down the hall, whistling a creepy tune.

"Well, I'm glad everything seems to have worked out okay," Matthew said, shyly grabbing Francis's hand. The taller boy gave him a soft grin and leaned down to affectionately kiss his cheek.

"I am so glad we can work through our problems civilly, without all this tossing about of clothing. I do not think I could forgive you if you put such awful wrinkles in my clothes. Of course, with the way Alfred dresses, I suppose wrinkles can't do much to make those hideously bland _things_ any worse."

"You can go to your room now, Francis," Arthur growled. Chuckling, the other boys finally deserted the hallway, leaving Arthur alone to reflect as he carefully moved Alfred's possessions back where they belonged.

**A/N: **Finally a hug! It took them eight freaking chapters, but a hug at last! You have no idea how many times I tried writing in a hug, or an accidental kiss, and I was like 'No! It's not right yet!' but finally, in this chapter, the hug got to stay.

As to side pairings, which have now become an issue since Ivan got too creepy for Toris, I haven't really planned any. I might make a random comment indicating Toris hooked up with his new roomie, but I don't plan to write much about it. Kibacoe wants IvanXYao, which I might be able to swing, but not any time soon. Ivan's gotta get some counseling first, lol. However, a new side pairing will be coming up soon, as Alfred and Berwald get a chance to talk some more...* evil laughter * You can run, Finland, but you can't hide!

On an unrelated note, I've written three chapters today, and I'm about to start the fourth. That's like 40 pages so far. My fingers are starting to cramp up, lol, but I can't stop typing! Oh, and if you want to see a certain scene, feel free to mention it! I'm very flexible with where the chapters go, and I like working in reviewer requests. MataHari-chan has already given me some great ideas for the Halloween chapter, but that's still a bit far off. We're barely done with the first month of school. * sigh * I might need to pick up the pace though, or start skipping stuff, lol. Otherwise, some of my reviewers will probably graduate before these guys do. -_-;


	9. Meeting the Queen

**Chapter 9**

The day of the London outing had Arthur racing around like a chicken with his head cut off. Alfred, even with his boundless energy, could barely keep up with him. All morning it was, "Alfred, go check this," or "Alfred, where are those tickets?" And so it went until (staggered twenty minutes apart) all four groups departed from the school as smoothly as a ducks slipping into a pond. Each group was accompanied by members of the Student Council, in case anyone had questions, and Arthur had even recruited some parent volunteers to serve some shifts in the underground, giving students directions.

"Arthur, you did an amazing job organizing all this," Alfred praised, as the big red bus pulled up to the school to transport the fourth group.

"Thank you. I worked very hard on it," Arthur replied, watching in delight as his excited classmates ooh-d and ahh-d over the traditional-looking bus. There was only one thing that marred his otherwise flawless morning.

"There he is, luv! Take a photo, will ya? Smile, Prince Arthur! Look! It's two for the price of one! That's the president's kid!" a reporter shouted, as soon as Arthur and Alfred emerged from the school gates.

Having been raised with paparazzi clamoring for his photos, Prince Arthur left his classmates to board the bus and stepped closer to the gate, offering a small wave and formal smile. Alfred trailed after him, looking unsure, flinching from the camera flashes and hiding behind the fuzzy collar of his too-large jacket.

"Where ya headed, Prince Arthur?" A reporter shouted out.

"We'll be touring the sites of London, today. First up is the Changing of the Guard ceremony," Arthur said politely. He then subtly grabbed Alfred by the elbow and guided him towards the bus, where a mysterious swarm of teachers and some random people Alfred had never seen before on campus surrounded them. In the shuffle, Alfred was confused, but Arthur finally just took his hand firmly and pulled him around the bus, to a plain black car waiting nearby.

"Go on, get in quickly," Arthur said, ducking in as well.

"What's going on?" Alfred asked. Two of the burliest of the men entered the car with them, and for the first time, Alfred saw they were armed with hand guns. One of the men flashed Alfred a glimpse at his CIA badge. The other man was British, and Arthur seemed to already know him.

"Some of the students traveling today, including us, require special arrangements," Arthur said. "Alfred, meet Agent Timothy Andrews, and Officer Shaun Preston. Shaun has been working with my branch of the family for five years now. Your father sent Agent Andrews."

"Oh, hi guys!"

"Hello, sirs, pleasure to serve today. You kids ready to roll out?" Agent Andrews asked. He was dressed sharply in a black suit, armed with a badge affixed to his belt as well as a small radio. Officer Preston had a similar model on his own hip.

"We're ready. Thank you for looking out for us today," Arthur said politely. Alfred flashed a smile and nodded, and Officer Preston tapped on the glass that separated them from the driver as if they were in a taxi. They went a different direction from the bus, leaving behind the paparazzi with the exception of one particularly sharp-eyed journalist, who followed in hot pursuit.

"I can't lose him safely," the driver said. The bodyguards frowned and monitored the trailing car closely, with hawk like eyes. It made the interior of the car feel very tense, and Alfred felt a little disappointed that he and Arthur couldn't ride on the big bus with everyone else.

"So...are you excited to see London?" Arthur asked. Alfred glanced awkwardly at the bodyguards before he replied.

"Yeah, it should be fun. Who all won the raffle?" Alfred asked.

"Well, I meant to tell you earlier...but you did, actually. Kiku won a spot as well. Thank god that Meghan girl didn't. The others are students I've never met before—mostly girls. I think they were more interested than the boys. Still, we raised a lot of money for the council."

"What? I'm meeting your grandma today? Dang it, Arthur, you should have told me to wear something nicer!"

"Why? You look perfectly fine." Truth be told, with everything that was going on, it had merely slipped Arthur's mind. All the other students that would be meeting his grandmother were far more dressed up. In his jeans and rugby jacket, Alfred would look slovenly by comparison.

"I'd let ya borrow my jacket, kid, but I think it'd look even weirder," Agent Andrews offered sympathetically.

"Oh...err, thanks, but it's okay I guess. Do I have to go, Arthur? I'm just gonna embarrass you."

"Well you don't _have_ to go, of course, but I rather hoped you'd want to come meet her. I told her I'd be bringing my best friend. Honestly, she won't care if you're wearing jeans. She's not that stuffy."

"She didn't hear about the painting, did she?" Alfred asked, sinking down behind his collar in embarrassment. Arthur frowned primly.

"I made sure that she didn't. _That_ would certainly offend her."

"Oh...sorry," Alfred said again. Arthur just shrugged. No matter how hard they tried to ignore their presence, it was awkward having the body guards listening on every word, and they ended up driving in near silence to the first destination, while their classmates had rowdy fun on the bus ahead of them.

When the paparazzi got too close, and nearly rear-ended them, Officer Preston used his radio and soon a police car was on the tail of their pursuer, not flashing his lights yet but letting him know he was being watched.

All in all, Alfred felt like he was driving with his parents to some stuffy gala. The impending meeting with the Queen made him nervous, and Arthur grew more and more frustrated as the second passed. He'd wanted this to be a fun day for his roommate, but it seemed the oppressive security measures and the tea visit with his grandmother had made Alfred a nervous, preoccupied wreck. Arthur flipped open his cell phone, pressing a speed dial button. On the other end of the line, Yao answered quickly.

"How's it going on your end?" Arthur asked. Yao was with the first group.

"_We are right on schedule. We are leaving Trafalgar Square and heading to the Guard Ceremony. How is it in the car?" _Yao asked. Arthur glanced at the stone-faced body guards and then at Alfred, who had pulled out his iPod.

"Uneventful...though we are being tailed by a reporter. They've got a police car on him, though. We're almost at the palace, so I'll let you go," Arthur said. Yao said goodbye and they hung up. Despite the awkward car ride, Alfred perked up upon seeing the Queen's residence.

"Wow! It's beautiful!" He said, peering out the tinted windows. Arthur felt a proud smile tug at his lips and he leaned over, to glance at the view. He was very close to Alfred, and a sudden speed bump sent him tumbling onto the other boy. They untangled themselves awkwardly while their bodyguards exchanged smirks.

It was then that Alfred spotted some of the other students that needed escorts. A huge man roughly the size of a small car, his burly arms covered in tattoos, stood alongside Ivan at the edge of the crowd. They spoke to each other quietly, as if not very interested in the ceremony taking place and merely using it as a cover to exchange information.

"Woah, check out that guy with Ivan!"

"Yes, his father insisted Ivan have a bodyguard of his choosing. He flew in from Moscow this morning."

"Think he's in the mafia?"

"Yes," Agent Andrews said shortly. Alfred's eyes widened in excitement.

"Cool! I'm _totally_ gonna go talk to him," he declared. His guard smirked and shook his head.

"You're _totally _not...sir," he tacked on the 'sir' at the end as if he'd almost forgotten it. Alfred looked put out, but Arthur sent the secret service agent a grateful smile.

"Who's _that_ girl protecting?" Alfred asked, pointing to a sharply dressed woman wearing dark sunglasses.

"She's here for Francis. I know her, too," Arthur said.

"Francis has a hot, sexy female bodyguard. Why am I not surprised?" Alfred asked. The question earned a smile from both bodyguards, and an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

"We aren't planning to stand near her, but I'd watch what you say if we do happen to cross paths. Officer Dubois is very...err...professional."

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one," Officer Preston commented.

"Alright, let's go," Agent Andrews said, opening the door and scanning the area before Alfred was allowed to emerge. A press barricade had been constructed in advance, and Alfred felt fairly safe from the cameras due to the distance. He and Arthur walked side by side towards their pre-determined spot, protected in the rear by their burly guards. Matthew caught sight of them and waved, but he remained standing next to Francis and Officer Dubois. Alfred waved back.

"Hey, cool guard Alfred! Ask him to let me see his gun!" Mike bellowed from somewhere nearby. Arthur scowled. He should have shredded all the permission slips belonging to the rugby team, but they were in attendance as well, spread out over the various groups.

"Sorry, maybe some other time, Mike," Alfred called back. They took their spots just as the ceremony began. Arthur watched it with an obviously bored expression, but Alfred was impressed by the decorous uniforms. Much to Arthur's embarrassment, having been made aware that he was in the crowd, the guards altered their normal route in order to salute to him as they passed. Arthur tried not to blush, while Alfred snickered at him.

"I told grandmother not to give them special instructions," Arthur muttered in displeasure. Still, when Alfred assured him how cool it was, his embarrassment cooled some. When the ceremony was over, the group that would be having tea with the Queen congregated near the gates and were quickly whisked inside. The bodyguards relaxed considerably once they were in a secure area, and they finally dropped back some, giving the boys space to breathe.

"You really shouldn't be nervous," Arthur said. "She's very nice, and even if you _do_ offend her, she won't let on that you have."

"I'm still nervous. I'm really bad in these types of situations. I always say or do something totally embarrassing!"

"You'll be fine. If in doubt, just don't say anything. I'm sure the rest of the group will do the majority of the talking," Arthur soothed. Sure enough, the girls seemed ecstatic. Despite all of them being very wealthy and accustomed to such sights, they pointed and gasped at everything they passed, and they were all dressed impeccably. Alfred shoved his fists into his bomber jacket and kept his head down. Quietly, Kiku appeared at their side.

"Do you mind if I walk with you? I do not know anyone else," Kiku said. Alfred offered him a bright, welcoming smile.

"Sure dude! Are you nervous, too?"

"A little bit. My parents are very excited that I won, however."

"It's probably best my parents don't know. Otherwise, they probably would have shipped in a stunt double for me."

"Oh come off it. It's really not that big of a deal," Arthur said. "I've told grandmother all about you in my letters. She knows what to expect."

"You write her letters?" Alfred asked.

"Sure I do. I call her, too, but she and I both enjoy writing letters more."

"_My _grandmother's in a special home. She's got dementia and she pees every time she sees me. The nurses don't have a clue why," Alfred said. Arthur was beginning to suspect what Alfred's problem might be with high pressure situations, but he didn't share his observation just yet.

"Err...I am very sorry to hear that, Alfred-san," Kiku finally replied, somewhat awkwardly.

"It's okay. I never really knew her before she got dementia. So does this mean I'm not gonna get fish and chips today?" Alfred asked. His face had begun to drain of any color, and the further they walked into the palace, the whiter he got. Before Arthur could reply that no, his grandmother was unlikely to serve fish and chips for brunch, Alfred continued talking, as if unable to stop himself.

"Because I was really looking forward to that. Do you guys call the fries fish or chips? I can't remember now. If the fries are the chips, then do you really eat fish with it? Like fish sticks or is it fancier than that? Speaking of fancy, this isn't going to be one of those things where I have to hold my pinky out while I drink tea, is it? If there's more than one fork I'm gonna get really confused. Who came up with that stupid idea anyway? One fork is all you need during a meal!"

"_Alfred_!" Arthur said, finally resorting to grabbing the other teen by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. "You babble when you're nervous, don't you?" he asked. The taller teen winced, and nodded.

"I can't help it. It's like word vomit. Please don't make me go in there. It's gonna be bad! All those girls are gonna see me look stupid, and they're gonna spill to the press, and it'll be all over the papers next week how I pissed off the Queen of England. My mom's gonna _kill_ me!" Alfred pleaded.

Assessing the situation, Arthur made a hasty decision.

"Come on. We'll go in before anyone else does and you'll see that she's just my grandmother—nothing to be scared of."

"O-okay," Alfred said weakly. The guards remained in the hallway as they entered one of the palace's dining rooms.

"Here we are. Hello Grandmother," Arthur said. The Queen was dressed in a very pretty blue suit, and she sat at the table with a needlework project. Upon seeing her grandson, she put the project away and stood, hugging Arthur close and patting his cheek affectionately.

"I'm so glad you've come to visit finally. Are your school friends here?"

"Yes, and this is my roommate, Alfred."

"H-hello," Alfred said nervously. He started to shake her hand, then aborted that motion and was going to bow, but then he just stepped forward and hugged her.

"Oh my! Friendly, aren't you?" the Queen said with a light chuckle.

"Hello, mam. It's nice to meet you. Arthur talks about you a lot," he said.

"He talks about you a great deal as well. This must be your new rugby jacket. He told me all about how you were accepted onto the team this past week. You must be very proud. Are you hungry? There are some cookies on the table."

"Did you bake them?" Alfred asked innocently. She chuckled again.

"Goodness me, no. I can't bake to save my life. Arthur gets that from me, I'm afraid. But I've taught him how to handle a needle and thread. Has he shown you some of his embroidery yet?"

"Yes mam! He's gonna make me a superhero cape for Halloween!" Alfred enthused. The Queen smiled again, liking how innocent and sweet Alfred seemed.

"I'm glad my grandson got such a sweet boy for a roommate. Now come sit down and have some cookies while we wait for your friends, dears," she said.

"See? Nothing to be nervous about. She's just like any other grandmother," Arthur couldn't help saying. Alfred blushed.

"Thanks for letting us have tea with you. I still might do something really embarrassing and awkward. Please don't be mad at me, though!" Alfred forewarned. The Queen took her seat beside Alfred and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"My dear, I find I like you very much. You needn't worry about trying to impress me," she said soothingly. Arthur sat on her other side, and then the others were let inside.

The brunch went remarkably well. The girls asked all kind of polite, informed questions to which the Queen was happy to answer. Alfred was relieved that the food was not too terribly fancy, and he contentedly ate the little cakes, cookies and finger foods with his best manners as everyone else sipped their tea and chatted. Alfred was just beginning to think he might survive the experience with his dignity intact when he had to get clumsy. Something furry streaked between Alfred's legs under the table and bit his leg, and in alarm, he stood up, stumbling forward. Arthur, who had just been about to pour himself a cup of tea, missed the cup and spilled it on his crotch instead. The Queen's beloved little dog (who was responsible for the mayhem) began to bark aggressively at Alfred, who stumbled out of his chair in order to help Arthur, who was hissing as the tea burned his lap.

"You're junk's gonna get burned! Just take 'em off!" Alfred explained, hurrying forward to take the situation in hand and help his roommate, who was now tearing up as the hot liquid seeped through his thin dress trousers. Before Arthur could stop him, Alfred "solved" the problem...by effectively stripping him. Getting tangled in his trousers in an attempt to escape Alfred, Arthur tripped and fell backwards, pulling Alfred down with him, into a rather suggestive position. All the while, the yappy little dog barked and growled at Alfred, till it finally darted forward and bit his hand. Trying to get it off, Alfred shook his arm and sent the dog flying—onto the table, where it crashed into everyone's drinks and plates and knocked over the towering vase of roses.

"My goodness! Precious, my darling, are you alright?" the Queen said, scooping up the angry little rat-dog and smothering it with affection.

"Get _off_, Alfred!" Arthur roared, but not before a girl in attendance hastily snapped a picture with her phone.

"Sorry! I'm really sorry! Are you okay, Arthur?" Alfred asked. Arthur hastily tugged his pants back up, wincing at the wet spot and the tenderness it caused. Flustered, Arthur surveyed the situation.

"I'm going to my room to get a change of clothes, grandmother. I'm terribly sorry. Alfred, come with me." Alfred exited the room with his roommate, cringing the entire way.

The two boys escaped into a different hallway, one void of bodyguards, where Alfred winced, waiting for the yelling to start. Instead, Arthur began to laugh. He laughed until he couldn't stand up anymore and he sunk to the carpet clutching his sides.

"Did you...see my grandmother's bloody face? I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to hurl that stupid little dog out of a second story window. Good god, that was hilarious!"

"You're not mad?" Alfred asked. Arthur just laughed again, and hesitantly, Alfred joined in.

"I can't believe I said talked about your junk in front of the freaking Queen!" Alfred realized, his horror turning into absolute hilarity.

"I look like I've wet myself...and the way you fell on me!" After the boys had their fill of giggling like idiots, Arthur stood up and extended his hand to help Alfred stand as well.

"Come on, I'll show you the room I use when I'm here."

"Thanks for...well...just being you, I guess," Alfred said, still smiling. Another small chuckle escaped Arthur as he gazed up at his painfully awkward roommate.

"I don't think I'm ever going to miss a formal function with you ever again. That was the funniest tea I've _ever_ had."

USUK

The boys all sat in Alfred and Arthur's room, recounting the day's adventures.

"Then he threw my grandmother's dog—you know the one, Francis, that little rotter that always bit us as kids?"

"—and it knocked over everything, and tea went flying everywhere, and Alfred's grandmother looks like WWIII just broke out in her tea room," Alfred added, not even realizing he was finishing Arthur's sentence. Matthew giggled, and Ivan grinned at just how spectacularly bad the tea had gone with the Queen. Francis just shook his head.

"I'm glad you boys had fun...because it's already all over the internet. One of the girls must have snapped some photos," Francis said, spinning his phone around to show the rather embarrassing photo of the two of them in a compromising position, with the Queen's horrified expression in the background.

"Oh god, I think I'm just gonna ignore my parent's phone calls for like...the rest of the year," Alfred groaned, laughing all the same at the hilarious picture. It even captured the awful little ankle-biter smacking against the vase of roses.

As if on cue, Alfred's cell phone began to ring insistently.

"Just don't answer. I'm ignoring my parents' calls as well. On a positive note, Emily, the Student Council President, said I did a fantastic job. She said usually the freshman fall apart and can't accomplish anything, but we're the first year of students who not only planned it all, but raised over a thousand dollars for the club."

"You were really awesome, Arthur. Everybody had a great time," Matthew praised. He smiled at all the council members present. "You were all great, actually. I've never been on such a fun school trip before! Do you guys wanna see the pictures Francis and I took?"

"Sure!" Alfred said brightly. He silenced his phone, and tossed it somewhere onto his bed. For the first time in his life, he honestly didn't care what the rest of the world thought about his meeting with the Queen. Arthur kept catching his eyes and smiling, as if they'd had the most epic time ever, and somehow, that was all that mattered.

USUK

Two weeks flew by, and Arthur and Alfred remained happily oblivious to the outside world, safe in the protective walls of World Academy. The boys were busy, but they still made time to play their computer games together, study with their circle of friends, and somehow squeezed in time for sports, music, and the council.

They had just exited a council meeting, where they had been planning the Halloween ball, and Alfred was about to head to rugby practice.

"Wanna come watch?" He asked Arthur casually. Arthur nodded.

"Let me swing by the room to pick up my project, and then I'll be along," Arthur said. Since Alfred was never included in any plays, he mostly just hung out by the sidelines, armed with towels and water bottles, and chatted with Arthur until practice ended or the guys went on break. Arthur had relaxed about the rugby team somewhat, since once the fun of hazing week was over, they seemed to forget all about Alfred. Nobody really teased his roommate anymore, except there had been one incident with some boys on the wrestling team, but Alfred's rugby mates had showed up and talked a lot of smack, and nothing really came of it. Still, they had kept their word and stood up for Alfred, even though most of the time it was them giving him the most flak.

Alfred, however, didn't seem to mind. The team had warmed up to him in the same way Arthur had, and while they still called him spaz and four-eyes, it seemed to be in a fond sort of way, as if he were their mascot. Still, they were rather crude boys, and they were always encouraging Alfred to get laid. Worse, they also frequently told him to "just come out of the closet already" and screw Arthur, who they insisted on calling "Princess." Even worse, they bowed mockingly whenever they saw him. Still, Alfred spent so much of his time at practices that Arthur had to learn to deal with the boys if he wanted to spend his afternoons with his roommate, and he most certainly did.

On campus, Alfred and Arthur were getting quite the reputation as a not-so-secret couple, an idea seemingly proven by the pictures that had leaked to the internet. Alfred had finally faced his parents and explained the situation in an e-mail, but by the time he talked to them, they'd cooled down and didn't seem to expect anything different from him. Arthur's own mother, embarrassingly enough, had asked if they were really together, even though she'd gotten the story from her mother-in-law about what had really happened.

If Alfred was more observant (but he wasn't) he might have noticed that Arthur had no qualms with the school mistakenly thinking _they_ were a couple, even though he'd been highly annoyed when it had been Matthew and Alfred under suspicion. Matthew even pointed this out, but Arthur just scowled and told Matthew to mind his own business, and that the two situations were entirely different. Matthew had just grinned, and smiled knowingly at Francis. As for Matthew and Francis, despite an annoying tendency on Francis's part to flirt, the two of them had been together for nearly six weeks now, which was practically forever for a couple in the ninth grade.

Arthur had been steadily working on Alfred's Halloween costume for nearly three weeks now, and it was almost perfect. The taller boy couldn't wait, and was chomping at the bit to see it, but Alfred kept it secret and only worked on it during craft club meetings.

"What are you gonna dress up as?" Alfred asked one evening. They were lying on their beds, already dressed in their pajamas, just talking as they often did. Arthur smiled mysteriously.

"Oh, you'll see. I'm sure you'll like it, though not many students will probably get the reference. I hear Matthew's going as something special for Francis."

"Huh? You mean his bunny costume?" Alfred asked.

"All the girls in the French club are going as playboy bunnies...so Matthew's going as a sexy bunny, too, right?" Arthur asked. Alfred winced for his friend.

"Err, I don't think so. Matty just heard Francis talking about how some girls were going as bunnies and he thought it was a great idea, so he ordered a big bunny costume. He looks really cute in it, though. Maybe I should warn him Francis was talking about playboy bunnies?" Alfred fretted. Arthur just smiled and shook his head.

"Let Matthew go in a costume he feels comfortable in. He's not the slutty type. Francis will like how he looks no matter what he wears."

"If you say so...I hope he's not mad at me afterwards, though."

"I promise, it'll work out just fine for Matthew. Do you know what Ivan's going as?" 

"Well, he wasn't planning on going at all, but then I told him he had to come. The school counselor has been working with him and encouraging him to participate more in school activities. Now I think he's dressing up as a gangster."

"He encourages his bad image, I swear he does," Arthur replied.

"What about Yao?" Alfred asked. As of late, the super-organized Chinese boy and Arthur had become fairly close due to council meetings.

"He's going the cute route, like Matthew. So...are you asking anyone?" Arthur questioned, with fake disinterest.

"It'd be a shorter list to say who I didn't ask...which mostly consists of Ludwig and Ivan."

"You've got a date then?" Arthur said in surprise.

"I didn't say that. I asked at least fifteen girls and I've been shot down by each one...pretty brutally, I might add. One even got mad at me for cheating on you," Alfred laughed, as if he found the misconceptions floating around tragically amusing. "The Captain said he can get me a date, but I think it's some sort of practical joke. Still...better to have a date than not, right?"

"R-right. I s-suppose I should ask someone, too. Do you think Emily would be interested?"

"Going for a senior girl? That's hardcore man! You've got guts! But I totally could see her saying yes. Ever since you pulled off the London trip, I think she's got the hots for you more than your fanclub. As long as you don't take Meghan, I'm happy." Alfred shuddered in mock disgust at the idea of Arthur's biggest fan, a girl that had become quite the stalker, and Alfred's enemy in student council meetings.

For some strange reason, though, Arthur was most decidedly _not_ happy. He had no idea who the rugby team would hook Alfred up with, but considering they hung around some very attractive girls, Arthur was feeling a bit nervous about it.

"You know...I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of people expect us to go together," Arthur said, fiddling a bit nervously with the yarn for his knitting project.

"Why? Cause I pantsed you in front of your grandmother? And because we spend all our time together, and finish each other's sentences, and you come to all my practices, and we're friends with all the other gay kids in school, and—"

"Yes, because of all that...no need to continue," Arthur said crisply. Alfred just smiled and shrugged.

"Arthur, I've been meaning to ask you for awhile now, but I guess it just never seemed like the right time. _Are_ you gay?"

Alfred sat waiting for his answer, blue eyes sweet and understanding. Arthur knew no matter what he said, Alfred wouldn't judge him for it. Absolutely nothing would change between them, but what if he said he didn't know? He'd always thought he was straight until Alfred had become his roommate. Plus, he'd never had a best friend before. How was he supposed to know if his feelings for Alfred were normal best friend feelings or something more?

"I admit I've thought about it, but I don't really know. I guess I'm still figuring it out. Honestly, I don't really think about it much," Arthur said, leaving off the 'unless I'm with you' part at the end. Alfred stared at him for a long moment and then shrugged carelessly again.

"I've kinda been wondering, too," Alfred said.

Arthur's eyes shot open wide in surprise.

"It's the guys in the locker room. I know that sounds bad, and they'd _kill_ me if they knew, but they're just so built, ya know? I can't figure out if I keep staring because I'm, ya know, into them or if I just want to look like them."

Arthur felt an almost crushing disappointment. So Alfred's curiosity had nothing to do with him after all, and worse, he was drooling over the tall, muscular athletes, who were pretty much the total opposite of Arthur.

"I honestly wondered a bit, what with all the time you spend drawing those superheroes you like so much," Arthur finally said.

"I thought about asking Matty to kiss me, so I'd know for sure," Alfred admitted, biting his lip. "But it would be my first kiss, and I don't want my first kiss to be with a guy, ya know? I was thinking I could kiss my date to the Halloween ball at the end of the night."

"I hadn't thought of kissing anyone," Arthur said flatly. _'You liar!' _he thought with a glum frown. He'd most certainly thought about kissing Alfred. His roommate seemed oblivious to his darkening mood, and pulled his blankets back to crawl into bed.

"Well, I guess we'll figure it out eventually. I'm really glad I'm not the only one who's a little confused about it. Man, Arthur, you always make me feel better about stuff!"

"Anytime, Alfred. You can always talk to me, about anything. You know that right?" Arthur said quietly in the darkness. His best friend yawned, snuggling further into his bed.

"'Course I do. We'll always be there for each other. Night, Arthur," Alfred mumbled, almost falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Arthur noted how his friend had seemed to abandon all his skin care rituals and was a little grateful for it, though he'd grown accustomed to the scent of cocoa butter before he fell asleep.

"Goodnight, Alfred. Sleep tight," he replied softly, slipping into his own sheets with a troubled little frown.

**A/N: **Aww, I'm so mean to poor Arthur! Of the scenes that didn't make the cut, I think my favorite was Alfred asking out the girl who accused him of cheating on Arthur, lol. Also, I didn't bother going into Alfred begging for his jacket back. It was just your typical, run-of-the-mill humiliating incident for Alfred, lol. I'm sorry if I skip over a scene I allude to, and leave you to picture it yourself, but the first part of this fic is spanning two years, so if I want to get to the good parts any time soon, I gotta pick up the pace!

Well, these are the first two days of my vacation that I haven't had a crapload of stuff to do, so expect updates all throughout tonight and tomorrow as well. I'm writing as much as I can before I have to go back to being a responsible adult. XD On to chapter 10! (Don't know if any of you watch Naruto as well, but I feel a little like Gai right now. 'If I can't defeat you, I'll write 100 pages in one night! Spirit of YOUTH!')

Oh, and we cracked a hundred reviews! Thanks a ton guys! So I'm finally gonna cave and write a bit about PolLiet just for those who requested it (at the Halloween ball, probably) and the SuFin is still looming on the horizon. Now you guys get to vote. RussiaXChina or RussiaXBelarus? It's up to you guys, but if it's gonna be RussiaXChina, I need to do some fic-reading research. I've never really understood why they make a good couple, so rec em if you know of a good fic that could help put me in the mindset...


	10. The Halloween Dance

**Chapter 10**

**A/N: **The votes were cast and most people seemed to want some IvanXYao, though one person wanted to see Ivan woo Toris back into his arms. Lol, I'd probably have been more comfy writing that, but a challenge is good every now and then! Thanks for the fic recs, by the way. I think Belarus will still appear next year, but she won't be a romantic interest. After all, Ivan did pretty much claim he was gay in the beat-up-the-bullies scene. Also, I think it's more cannon for Toris to hook up with Poland, though still show some concern for Ivan's welfare, and for Alfred's too for that matter. There was also a YaoXKiku request, which I decided to hint at as being more one-sided for Yao.

USUK

Yao woke on the morning of October 1st with a list of things he needed to accomplish that day on the brain. As usual, Kiku was up before him and out the door, his bed neatly made as if he'd never slept there. Yao felt a pang of hurt. He'd hoped his reserved roommate would remember that it was his birthday, and at least leave a card or something.

As he usually did, Yao did a series of stretches to warm up and then took his hot bath, liberally scenting the water with some perfumed soap that his grandmother had sent him. He washed his long, silky hair and carefully braided it as he soaked in the water, wondering what the day would hold for him. Yao had not come to World Academy with dreams of making lots of friends, as academics were much more important to him, but it _was _rather depressing to turn fifteen and have nobody even notice.

_'The teachers all requested our personal information at the beginning of the year. I am sure one of them will remember,'_ Yao decided, scrubbing his back with a cute Hello Kitty knock off scrub brush. His bottle of panda bubbles smiled at him merrily from the corner of the spacious tub, as if assuring him someone would remember that it was his special day.

Thinking of the council meeting later that afternoon, and his history paper that was due, Yao let the bathtub drain and toweled off his slender form. He needed to put thoughts of his birthday out of his mind. He certainly had a busy day ahead, and no time for moping about. He'd also received an e-mail from his father, and he needed to read it before he attended class that morning.

Wrapping up in a towel, Yao exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam and fragrance. He wondered if his father's lengthy e-mail was something about his birthday?

_'Don't get your hopes up. You know it is likely just business as usual,'_ Yao chided. Despite being young, his father expected him to take over his empire of real estate development that was an ever growing sprawl in developing Chinese cities. Yao was attending World Academy and focusing his studies on business, but he would likely not attend college afterwards. His father needed him, and despite his heavy course load, Yao still did quite a bit of work for him.

Still wearing only his towel, Yao opened his laptop and clicked on the message from his father. As he read, his eyes widened in surprise and unhappiness. The message was _certainly_ not about his birthday. As he learned more and more about the difficulties his father was facing by reading the message, he realized his birthday was probably the last thing on his aging father's troubled mind. Yao read the e-mail a second time, and then a third. What his father was asking him to do was a simple enough task, and they'd discussed the business contacts he was expected to make at World Academy at length before he'd left, but he hadn't expected the demand to come so soon, and he certainly hadn't expected it to involve Ivan Braginski.

Quite frankly, Yao was a little scared. While his father was lean and street-smart, always surrounded by a small army of bodyguards and yes-men, at World Academy, Yao was alone. He'd have nobody to protect him during his dealings with Ivan, and from what he had observed of the boy, protection was most definitely necessary. Everyone knew the real reason several boys had checked out of their dorms the first month of school and not returned. There were tales floating around that they'd been forced to perform sexual favors, and they had only escaped because Alfred Jones had come upon the scene and somehow managed to calm his hulking friend down.

That gave Yao an idea. For whatever mysterious reason, the bold American boy had formed a strange friendship with the frightening Russian. They had a playful rivalry with each other, and a strange mutual understanding that Yao couldn't even begin to understand, though based on what he had overheard in the hallway, he imagined they both had demanding fathers and not-so-happy home lives. This alliance, though odd, didn't particularly serve Yao. Though he worked with Alfred in the council, he'd previously dismissed the boy as being rather ignorant and useless, much like that airheaded Italian boy that was always hanging around Ludwig and Kiku. Therefore, he hadn't gone out of his way to foster a friendship with him. After all, though Alfred's father was very famous, he would only have political power for a limited time. Now, though, Alfred had a valuable link to Ivan, and the only way Yao was connected to Alfred was through Arthur, who fortunately enough, seemed quite eager to befriend him and rely on him during council meetings.

It was complicated, but getting closer to Arthur meant getting closer to Alfred, and perhaps gaining a useful ally in his future dealings with Ivan Braginski. It was a long shot, but it was the only option he had. He'd heard tales of upperclassmen who had approached Ivan during his first year as a freshman, seeking to make business deals on behalf of their parents, and how harshly they had been handled. Ivan had no history of showing interest in his family's business beyond using it to threaten his classmates, and Yao had no idea how to establish a contact with him without resorting to somehow using Arthur and Alfred.

His own birthday now forgotten, Yao dressed in a hurry and headed off to class, his mind a turbulent sea of worried thoughts.

USUK

Arthur bit his lip as he studied the information programmed into his phone. Yao's name and number stared back at him, as well as a troubling fact: today was Yao's birthday. Arthur had first considered getting him a gift, but then he had hesitated, because though he and Yao had grown close enough over the past two weeks to exchange phone numbers, they only had one class together and they hardly ever interacted outside of council meetings and events.

Besides, Arthur sometimes saw Yao speaking with Kiku, and he could only assume Yao was part of the strange trio of Ludwig, Kiku and Feliciano. But that didn't quite seem right either, as Yao seemed to dislike Ludwig's harshness, and dismissed Feliciano as an idiot.

Which left Arthur wondering if Yao considered him a close friend or not, and if so, what he should do for the other boy's birthday. He had finally settled on the idea of baking a cake before class, and giving it to Yao during lunch. He'd recruited Francis for the task, despite how much he hated the French boy's smug attitude about food and cooking, but such was his desire for the cake to be well received by Yao. He'd wanted Alfred to help out as well, but upon mentioning the cooking classroom where Alfred had burned his hands so badly during hazing week, his roommate went pale and promised to do something else to help celebrate Yao's birthday. Last Arthur had heard, Matty and Alfred were teaming up to make him something. Ivan had listened to all their talk about the upcoming birthday party over the past few days silently, and seemed not to have any interest in the subject.

Arthur glanced at his pocket watch and hurried down the hallway, where he spotted Francis already outside the classroom.

"Hurry up, Arthur! Baking a fantastic cake takes time. It cannot be rushed. We only have an hour now," Francis fretted. Apologizing for being a bit late (Alfred was hogging the bathroom again) Arthur hastily put on the apron Francis tossed his way and surveyed the ingredients Francis had assembled.

"We're making a traditional birthday cake, right? Something simple? I really don't want to mess this up," Arthur said. Francis smiled at him.

"You must really care to make a good impression if you have stooped to asking me for cooking help."

"Well, I can't deny that for whatever reason, everyone likes your recipes better than mine. It's bloody unfair, though. I practice much harder at it than you do," Arthur grumbled. Francis, however, merely handed him a bowl full of a powdery mixture.

"Stir that, and add three eggs. Do not just beat them in, though. You must lovingly tuck them into the batter, like a precious lover you are embracing in covers," Arthur obeyed, but instantly chafed at being ordered about in such a bizarre, pervy way. Yao better love his cake, because Arthur was likely to snap during the baking process.

Sure enough, by the time the hour was gone, Arthur and Francis were both dusted in flour and arguing with each other over the dumbest little things.

"I would most _certainly_ look better in a chef hat! All your stupid hair would make everyone mistake you for a girl, just like Coach Carter did!" Arthur shouted. Francis mimicked him with over-dramatized gestures, including lifting his fingers over his eyes to mock Arthur's thick eyebrows.

"Oh ho ho, how humorous! You must always remind me of that _one_ time! That joke is almost as old as your antiquated grandmother!"

"You take that back about my grandmother! She's not antiquated!" Arthur was about to pelt Francis with a fistful of flour, but a loud dinging from the oven interrupted their ridiculous argument.

"Ah, the cake is done! Hand me that fork," Francis said. Arthur frowned.

"The cake is for Yao; you can't eat it, you glutton!"

"Not to eat it, bushy brows. I am going to use it to test the readiness of the cake. Just give me that!" Francis shouted impatiently, snatching the fork from Arthur's grasp. Arthur started to fight him for it, but Francis merely inserted it quickly into the center of the cake and withdrew it, clean as a whistle.

"There, you see? Perfection. Now we must simply coat the cake in icing and drape the fondant over, and then attach the decorations. Have you finished with those pandas?" Francis asked. Arthur fetched the small bowl of little pandas he'd carefully sculpted out of the sugary black and white fondant.

"A little sloppy, but they will have to do. Do not use that one though—it looks like it has rabies," Francis criticized. Arthur scowled darkly, but discarded the violent looking panda. He'd rather liked that one.

"So you and Yao are fairly close now, hmm?" Francis asked. Arthur shrugged.

"We don't really socialize outside of council meetings, but I rather wish we did. I like him. He's organized and very smart."

"Do you like him more than Alfred?" Francis asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Arthur blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Alfred is my best friend. I'm not looking to replace him or anything, but I can talk about things with Yao that don't really interest Alfred."

"I think it is good for you to make a new friend, Arthur, though you could talk about intellectual things with me, you know."

"Dream on, frog face. I only tolerate you because you're dating Matthew, who I happen to get along with fairly well."

"Ah, so cruel, my old rival. You cut me to the bone with your harsh rejection!"

"Belt up. Is the cake cool yet?"

"Nearly. I apologize for calling your grandmother antiquated. You know I rather like her," Francis said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You'll say anything to get a rise out of me. It's partially why I can't stand you."

"Only partially?"

"The other part is because your face makes me want to violently puke," Arthur replied with a saccharine sweet grin.

"You know, Arthur, eventually you will have to forgive me," Francis said, as he slid the cake from the pan into the pretty little cake box.

"Never," Arthur replied stonily.

"It was only a toy," Francis said in a tone that suggested they'd had this argument many times before.

"It was _not_ just a toy. Pinky meant everything to me! She was the best plushie unicorn a boy could have wished for, and I will _never_ forgive you for what you did to her. I hope she haunts you in your sleep!"

"Ah, yes, with horrifying nightmares of your mangled stuffed unicorn plaguing me, however will I manage to sleep?" The sarcasm practically dripped off Francis's voice, "You are _such_ a baby," he added in an almost fond tone.

"I hate you with a fiery passion that will never falter. Now finish icing the bloody cake before first period starts and we're both late!"

USUK

Yao set his tray down a few seats over from Kiku, who merely glanced at him and nodded before returning to the discussion he was having with Ludwig and Feliciano. His feelings a little hurt, Yao opened his milk and stuck his straw in with more force than was necessary. The food at World Academy, while very high quality, was almost always western. He'd been told the cuisine varied depending on what country they were located in, and so he very much looked forward to the year he'd spend in China's capital. He was almost to the point of desperation when it came to his cravings for rice and potstickers.

The willowy Asian boy sipped his milk delicately, poking rather forlornly at his roast beef with the cute, blue kids' chopsticks that he always carried in his bag. Suddenly, a loud noisemaker rattled behind him, and Alfred Jones burst out an off-tune version of his nation's Happy Birthday song. He stood with his friends, Matthew and Francis, as well as Arthur (who held the most _adorable_ cake) and most importantly—Ivan Braginski.

"Happy Birthday, Yao!" Arthur exclaimed, letting him catch a better glimpse of the panda covered cake lit up with little green candles. His father's business troubles momentarily forgotten, Yao beamed at the unexpected show of friendship.

"I did not expect this! Nobody else has remembered. I nearly forgot myself," Yao said. He was very touched, and smiled happily as the cake was placed in front of him and the group of boys surrounded him to fill all the empty seats. Kiku looked surprised, and a little guilty. Yao felt a surge of appreciation for Arthur, who no doubt had organized the small party.

"Do you like the cake? Arthur and Francis made it this morning! Isn't it neat?" Alfred asked happily. Yao smiled at the all the little pandas, and blew out the candles. "Did you make a wish?" Alfred asked. Yao's eyes shifted to Ivan's friendly yet somehow intimidating violet-eyed gaze. The boy was staring at him with an unusual intensity. They had never really been formally introduced, though Yao frequently saw him hanging around outside the council room, waiting for Alfred to emerge.

"Yes, a rather important one. I have heard birthday wishes are very powerful, so let's hope mine comes true," Yao said, finally breaking his gaze away from Ivan's. The taller boy had begun to smirk at him in a way that was downright creepy. It made a chill race down Yao's spine.

"Here, Yao, Alfred and I made you this," Matthew said quietly, extending a prettily wrapped present that was flat like a magazine. Yao was really surprised then, because he barely knew the soft-spoken Canadian beyond sharing a few classes with him, and he'd always been a bit frosty towards Alfred during meetings. As a child, he'd always received big piles of fancy, expensive gifts from his father's associates and families, but he'd never been given gifts that were so personal. He unwrapped the present delicately, smiling at the pretty drawings the action revealed. He knew Alfred was very talented with art, due to the fact that Arthur was always encouraging the boy to attend art club meetings, but he hadn't known quite how skilled he was. Yao had a fine appreciation for artwork, and the soft lines of the watercolor paintings made him smile. He easily recognized the pictures as scenes from his homeland.

"These are beautiful, Alfred. Thank you very much," he said. He continued shuffling carefully through the papers until he saw a rather adorable comic, that instantly made his brown eyes light up with amusement. Cute little versions of themselves frolicked around the page, accompanied by humorous speech bubbles. One comic strip featured them all trying to prepare for his party, while another depicted some humorous moments from a student council meeting between himself, Francis, Arthur and Alfred. He laughed out loud at the panel that depicted the time he'd so smoothly offered a dragon statue for Arthur to throw at Francis. His grin widened further at the comic strip making fun of Alfred and Arthur's big fight in the hallway, and the commentary he'd offered afterwards that had amused Matthew and Francis so much.

"Here. The school counselor says it is a sign of goodwill to offer a gift at a birthday party. I have never attended one before, so if it is not right, blame her," Ivan said, pulling a surprisingly large box out of his schoolbag. The unexpected action shocked everyone present, Alfred included. The package he placed in front of Yao was wrapped in paper from Harrod's, which was a popular British department store.

Yao peeled back the paper delicately and lifted the top off the box. Inside, a sleek stuffed Panda toy peered up at him with friendly little black eyes. Beaming with pleasure, Yao lifted the medium-sized bear out of his tissue paper bed and marveled at his softness. He was plump with weighted stuffing, and so his adorable paws fell naturally around Yao's arms, as if he were giving him a gentle hug. Matthew's eyes widened in appreciation and he tugged on Francis's hand.

"I want one!" he begged. Francis grinned at both Matthew and Yao, amused they were still so taken with stuffed animals even at their age.

Yao, however, refused to be embarrassed by it. He loved panda bears, and all the cutesy things one could find for sale in Chinatowns. They reminded him of home, and of his family, whom he missed dearly. Yao flashed a hesitant, though very grateful smile at the tall Russian boy.

"I've been very homesick, but your gift makes me feel much better. _Xie xie_!" he said in his native tongue. Ivan gave him another rather disturbing smile, but this time it seemed a little more innocent than before. The tall boy seemed pleased that his gift was acceptable, and sat a little more comfortably at the table. "Hopefully you will all eat a slice? I am sure it is delicious, but I cannot hope to eat it all myself," Yao said, using the included plastic serving knife to delicately slice the small cake.

Alfred whooped happily when given his slice and joyfully exclaimed, "Yay! Birthday cake rocks!"

Forgetting all about the trio sitting nearby who quite routinely excluded him, for the first time since coming to World Academy, Yao felt like he was among friends.

USUK

"Alright, everyone needs to squish a little closer together!" Arthur called out, from his spot behind the camera. The group of friends grumbled but shifted around. Francis, who was dressed as a magician, was all too happy to wrap his arms around Matthew, grinning roguishly beneath his top hat. Matthew was so adorable as a bunny that even Arthur had been unable to resist smiling like a sap at him. Ivan had come as a gangster, in a pin stripe suit that looked very attractive on him. He'd emerged from his room with a real antique machine gun, but Alfred had panicked and sent him to take it back to his room and pack it away ("Are you kidding me man? You can't have a freaking _gun_ on campus!"). Now he held a rather harmless black water gun against Alfred's head, whom he had in a rather forceful headlock. On the other side of the picture, balancing out the cuteness of Matthew, was Yao in a panda suit. He hadn't asked anyone to the ball, but he was fairly involved in its organization and probably wouldn't have had time for dancing anyway.

And of course, dead center of the photo, playfully resisting Ivan's hold on him, was Alfred as none other than Superman. His costume was perfect, down to the last detail, and Arthur had never seen a boy so happy to open a box of clothes before. Arthur's own costume was a military ensemble from the WWII shooting game he played with Alfred. Most would think he was just a British soldier, but a few might notice the subtle details that marked the costume as originating from their beloved game. Alfred had geeked out over Arthur's costume, too, begging for his own American military ensemble to wear just for fun. He'd started talking about video game conventions that happened back home, where everyone dressed up as their favorite characters, and Arthur had merely blushed and said he wasn't ready to become quite _that_ dorky yet.

Setting the timer on the camera, Arthur hurried to insert himself in the photo. He stood next to Yao, saluting jauntily for the photo, and laughed with all the others when Ivan finally squirted Alfred in the ear and sent them all tumbling into an impromptu wrestling match as the camera clicked away shots.

Done with the photo taking, the group of friends temporarily parted ways to go about their tasks for the evening. Alfred had to meet up with his blind date in the gym, and Arthur reluctantly left to pick up Emily from the girl's dormitory. Ivan had taken interest in a rumor he had heard about a closed off tower in the campus being haunted, and despite Alfred's wide-eyed warnings not to investigate, he planned to ditch the dance with the bottle of vodka he had hidden in his coat, and do a bit of ghost hunting. Yao seemed to realize what he was up to and told the taller boy he'd be interested in tagging along, once he'd finished his duties at the ball.

Despite Emily being nearly a head taller than him, she looked rather fetching in her costume as a Renaissance lady. The dress was made from a rich green velvet, and it complimented Arthur's military costume quite well. Unfortunately for Alfred, he didn't fare as well with his blind date.

Patricia Stevens (or the girl more commonly called Fatty Patty behind her back and sometimes even to her face) looked absolutely mortified when she saw who her date was. At first, Alfred thought this was because she was embarrassed to be paired with the school's biggest loser, but the laughing guys on the rugby team quickly revealed she was blushing so hard because she had a huge crush on him. The scene was horribly awkward for her, and the plump girl fled the gym nearly in tears. Telling his rugby mates to shove off, Alfred hurried after her, cape billowing behind him. Excusing himself from Emily's side, Arthur trailed behind them silently.

He caught up to them just as Alfred was sitting down beside Patty on the stairs, who was sobbing into her hands. She'd dressed as a witch in a simple black dress and a pointed hat, and she honestly didn't look that bad, but it was obvious she felt awful due to the teasing of the rugby players. Arthur watched from his concealed position and Alfred didn't hesitate to drop his arm around Patty's shoulders.

"Hey, why are you crying? It's okay—the guys can be jerks sometimes, but they really don't mean any harm by it. Are you upset that they told everyone you liked me?"

"J-just leave me a-alone. It's b-bad enough without y-you s-s-seeing me cry," Patty sobbed into her arms. Alfred frowned, but didn't abandon her to her tears.

"But if you keep crying, you'll ruin your make-up, and it looks really good! I mean, you look good, not the make-up. What I'm trying to say is you look really nice tonight," Alfred said with a gentle smile.

Arthur shook his head fondly. Almost everyone teased Patty about her weight, but Alfred had never joined in. Though Arthur imagined he should feel jealous, instead, he could only feel almost overwhelming pride that his best friend was so heroically kind. Feeling like he'd eavesdropped enough, Arthur returned to the dance and to his date for the evening. Patty was in good hands. Alfred would make sure she had a fun evening.

Patty's sobs faded into soft sniffles. "You don't have to say that. I know I don't look like all the rich, pretty girls here. It's nice of you to come after me like this, though."

"So what if you don't look like everyone else? I don't look like the other guys on the rugby team either. If you don't care about that, we can still go have a good time at the dance. Besides, I still think you're really pretty in your costume...though you're not a very scary witch," Alfred joked. Patty finally seemed to pull herself together and she blushed at Alfred's kind words. He gently took her hand and guided her back towards the ball.

Arthur tracked them almost constantly through the first few dances, to the point that Emily finally called him out on his distracted air.

"You really wish he'd asked you instead of Patty, huh?" she surmised. Arthur blushed, and poured another scoop of blood red punch into his cup.

"He didn't ask her—his rugby mates set him up with her. I guess they meant it to be a joke."

"Tossers," Emily said. "Alfred doesn't fit in with them at all."

"He really doesn't, but his spot on the team means everything to him."

"Look, I can tell you'd rather hang out with him and your other friends. That Ivan kid might as well have been a horror attraction we planned—he's been standing in that corner for a half-hour and nobody's gone over there even once. You should go talk to him. I can hang out with my friends for the rest of the night." Arthur looked gratefully at the older girl.

"Are you certain you don't mind? I feel like it's not very gentlemanly behavior to abandon my date for the evening," Arthur protested. Emily, however, leaned over and lightly kissed his forehead. It made Arthur flush with color.

"Go have fun, Arthur. I'll have fun, too. No worries!" Arthur nodded, finally convinced, and slipped off to go stand with Ivan. Emily moved on to catch Gilbert in the act of trying to spike the punch.

All the while, Alfred danced one song after another with Patty, constantly laughing and joking with her until some of the other awkward, more beautiful couples grew envious of how much fun they seemed to be having. Alfred had discovered Patty played one of the online games he'd once been so fond of, and they happily swapped tales of fictional lands as they danced and munched on the party food. If the rugby players had expected them to embarrass themselves and feel too mortified to return to the dance, they were terribly disappointed.

"All your friends are hanging out over there. I bet you wish you could spend some time with them tonight, too," Patty said considerately, after they'd spent nearly two hours together. Alfred glanced at his group a bit longingly—they _did_ seem to be discussing something rather interesting. "Truth be told, I'm a bit worn out from all the dancing. If you don't mind walking with me back to my room, I don't care if you spend the rest of the night with them. I have to get up early in the morning to study anyway," Patty said.

"Oh, okay, but only if you're sure," Alfred said. Patty smiled at him fondly.

"Come on, let's go," she said. Hand in hand, the two of them left the dance, not unnoticed by the sharp green-eyed stare of Arthur.

Patty felt giddy to be walking down the hall, holding the hand of her crush after such a wonderful night, but she knew Alfred didn't return her ecstatic feelings. He was incredibly kind and funny and charming, all that she had thought him to be, but she couldn't deny that his demeanor seemed simply friendly, and nothing more.

"Alfred...I know you don't have any feelings for me. You probably didn't even notice me much until you found out I was your date tonight...but all the same there's something I want to give you."

"What's that?" Alfred asked. Patty smiled up at him and stretched onto her toes, pressing her lips against Alfred's in a chaste kiss.

"Thank you. Tonight you really were my hero. I know we're just friends, but it was a really nice date, all the same."

"Yeah, it really was. Ya know, that was my first kiss," Alfred said, seeming to trying to make sense of the experience in his mind.

"Mine too," Patty said. "It kind of feels like butterflies going crazy inside, huh?" she asked. Alfred's brows knitted together lightly—he didn't feel anything like that at all, but he smiled reassuringly at her.

"Yeah, pretty great. Have a nice night, Patty. Thanks for going to the dance with me," Alfred said. His date smiled brightly, wished him a nice night, and disappeared into her dorm room.

Alfred touched his lips, wondering what his lack of butterflies meant.

USUK

When Alfred finally joined their group, he looked distracted and spacey. Arthur feared his politeness towards Patty had extended into something more than just friendliness, but he didn't want to ask Alfred for details in front of everyone. Besides, Ivan was in the middle of telling them a story.

"I hear it is closed off because a girl killed herself there on Halloween, back in the 80s. She slit her wrists and bled out on the floor. They say if you go there on October 31st, you can see her ghost and feel her blood on the floor. I want to see if it's true," Ivan concluded, with a bright, happy smile.

Alfred was shocked out of his reverie by the story. He looked pale, and very nervous. Yao seemed to share his apprehensions.

"A real ghost? Here in the school?" Alfred said, looking like he wanted to wrap himself up in his cape and hide in his bed. Arthur gave the taller boy and Yao a reassuring smile.

"It's just a story. We're really going because Ivan has booze. Don't you two want to try some?" Arthur asked, his green eyes glinting with a hint of rebellion. Matthew looked nervous, and glanced at Francis to make the decision for the pair of them.

"If Arthur is willing to break the rules, I am willing as well. Let's go find this ghost of yours, Ivan," Francis declared. Somehow, it was now an unspoken challenge between himself and Arthur to see if one of them would chicken out first. Alfred and Yao shared uneasy looks, while Ivan just grinned and spun on his heel, heading out the back of the gymnasium.

"Oh man, this is _bad_ idea. Haven't you guys ever seen a horror movie? This is _always_ how they start! A group of teens sneaking off to do something they're not supposed to do, a creepy ghost story, a deserted place where nobody can hear them scream—we're gonna _die!_"

"Buck up, Alfred. You claim to be a hero, don't you? If you keep being such a sissy, I'll have to insist upon taking your cape back," Arthur said firmly. Alfred actually whimpered, wavering back and forth as if he couldn't bring himself to follow. Looking equally nervous, Yao took hold of Alfred's upper arm.

"Come on, Alfred. We can be brave together."

With great reluctance, the group of friends set off after Ivan, heading towards the old abandoned bell tower that loomed scarily over the school, it's dark passages and narrow staircases hiding all sorts of imagined terrors.

**A/N: **Sorry for all the OCs that have been popping up in this story. None of them really mean anything, but I didn't want to use countries in case it confused people on the pairings, and I hope none of the girls used are too annoying to read. I also apologize that Alfred's first kiss wasn't with Arthur, but I thought it was a little more realistic this way. I feel like Alfred will need more time and experience to come to grips with his attraction to Arthur, whereas Arthur is a little more aware of his feelings at this stage in the game.

Let me know how I'm doing with Ivan and Yao. I've never written Yao before, or even paid him much attention, but I read a really interesting article about the growing presence of the Russian mafia in Asia, and so I figured this was a good way to bring the two characters together, through their family's business enterprises. Everything I've read says that Yao is really nervous around Ivan, even though they have an alliance of sorts, so I'm going for a mix of cute moments and nervous paranoia: the foundation of any great romance, lol.

Yeah, and I'm done for the night now. That brings the day's total to about sixty pages. Didn't hit 100, but there's always tomorrow...


	11. The Haunted Bell Tower

**Chapter 11**

The intrepid adventurers craned their necks to stare up at the bell tower. The large bell at the top was dusted over and shrouded in spiders and cobwebs. An ominous blackbird fluttered out of the bell, pecking about at the top of the tower before taking flight with a haunting call.

The door to the bell tower was boarded up, but Ivan found a sturdy stick and pried off the boards with ease. He jangled the door handle, pushed his shoulder into the aged wood, and forced the door open. A cloud of dust mushroomed into the dark passage, illuminated by the moon beams slanting in through the small windows dotted up and down the walls of the stone tower.

"It's actually quite beautiful," Arthur said a bit dreamily, smiling at the milky bars of light and the dust motes dancing on the air.

"It's freaking creepy looking! Why can't we just go drink in the dorm?" Alfred asked nervously. Francis tangled his hand with Matthew's and nervously entered behind Ivan. Everything was deadly still in the tower, and it felt as though they were breaking into a tomb. Unable to help himself, Alfred latched onto Arthur's arm. Arthur shot him a questioning look, but Alfred was busy scanning the base of the tower nervously, his teeth chattering.

Suddenly, a loud clattering noise startled them all, and Yao bumped into Ivan nervously. The taller boy's big hand fell comfortingly on Yao's slender shoulder.

"Take it easy. It was just a large rat, I think," Ivan said, gesturing at where a pile of debris had shifted suddenly.

"_Just_ a large rat? It was probably eating somebody's corpse!" Alfred moaned, pressing up closely against Arthur's side. The British royal flushed with color, and stood up a little straighter.

"So are we going to the top?" Arthur asked, moving towards the stairs. Alfred stayed right with him, still shivering in the cool, fall air.

"Da. Let's go." Ivan released Yao's shoulder and took the stairs two at a time, leaving the others to hurry after him. They climbed and climbed, battling past spider webs and creaking stairs, spiraling higher and higher until brief glimpses out the windows revealed the whole campus spread out like a glittering gem below them. The bell was massive up close, a huge golden structure, glittering dully in the moonlight. Arthur trailed his fingers through the dust, leaving Alfred to glance nervously from right to left.

"Do you think this floor is strong enough to hold our weight?" Francis asked, eying the warped boards distrustfully. Arthur bounced gently, walking across the floor and testing it's strength.

"Seems alright to me. Well, Ivan, I don't think your ghost is in attendance," Arthur concluded.

"Perhaps a little vodka will lure the ghosts out, da?" Ivan said, opening the bottle and taking a swig as he walked around the perimeter of the bell. Arthur took a seat near the window, and Alfred hastily sat beside him, their sides pressed tightly together.

"Nothing's going to happen, Alfred. It's just an old tower, that's all," Arthur soothed. Alfred, however, rolled himself into a tight little ball of limbs, still glancing suspiciously around the dusty room. Ivan passed the bottle to Arthur.

"This will put some hair on your chest," he said with a grin. Arthur delicately pressed the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip. It burned his taste buds and Arthur winced in displeasure. "Don't be a girl! Take a real drink!" Ivan goaded. Scrunching up his nose, Arthur hastily swayed the bottle up over his head in a graceful arc, grimacing as the shot of liquid burned down his throat. The bottle was passed to Francis, who imitated Arthur's actions.

"I wanna try, too!" Alfred peeped, for the first time seeming distracted from their location by the gently sloshing bottle of alcohol. Ivan smirked at Alfred as he took the bottle from a coughing Francis and passed it to the tall teenager.

"Maybe it will give you courage," Ivan said with a mocking chuckle. Alfred took a _very_ large swig of the booze, perhaps trying to impress everyone, and actually managed to keep a straight face afterwards. At the after burn, his nose crinkled slightly in distaste.

"That stuff tastes awful," Alfred said, passing the bottle to Matthew. The soft-spoken boy took a tiny sip, shuddered, and hastily passed the bottle to Yao. Eyeing Ivan's assessing stare, Yao took a large drink, rivaling Alfred's. Ivan arched a silvery blond eyebrow, clearly impressed. When he'd swallowed, Yao wiped his mouth with the back of his hand but beyond that, showed no reaction.

"I sort of like it," he commented. Ivan smiled at him. He took the bottle and ran his fingers over the label, frowning a bit sadly as he did so.

"This is _very_ good vodka. I would know—I was stealing the cheap shit when I was twelve, but _this_...this I took from my father's liquor cabinet," Ivan said, taking another long drag from the bottle. Surprisingly, Arthur reached for it again, initiating another round of shots among the group.

"This is my first time to drink," Alfred said, smiling a bit like a little boy who has done something naughty. "And I got my first kiss tonight, too." Arthur glanced at him, resigned, and intercepted the bottle on its course, skipping over Matthew and Yao. He took a long drink, and then he gave it to Matthew. Ivan rolled his eyes.

"Get your dick wet and then talk to me. I never thought my first friend would be such a pussy," Ivan said. Still, there was no doubt that his friendly tone held fondness—for whatever reason, he liked Alfred. Alfred blushed at Ivan's crude language and the implication that he was too innocent.

"I've been tipsy before," Arthur said. "Last New Year's—my parents let me have champagne, but they were rather far gone themselves, and I drank more than I ought to have. I'd like to be tipsy now. It was a rather nice feeling," Arthur said. He seemed very melancholy all of the sudden, as if Alfred's revelation and the depressing atmosphere of the tower caused all happiness to drain out of him. The bottle was passed to him a third time before Ivan claimed it again.

"Twelve is awfully young to drink alcohol," Yao commented mildly, glancing at Ivan over the tops of his knees.

"You are babies. You know nothing," Ivan said, seeming to catch Arthur's mood. He sat (rather heavily) next to the British royal and did another shot from the bottle. He'd begun drinking before the others, starting with a lighter proof alcohol during the school party, but his tolerance was high. He seemed to just barely feel the effects as he pulled off the scarf he always wore and spat on the ground beside him. It was the action of pulling away the scarf that caused Francis to notice something rather peculiar on his neck.

"You've got something on your neck, Ivan. It looks like a smudge of ink," Francis said. Ivan touched his own throat tenderly, right where the spot of ink was.

"That's a tattoo," he said. "My first one," he added after a moment of shocked silence.

"You have a _tattoo_?" Alfred asked, eyes as wide as saucers. Even Arthur looked momentarily surprised and distracted from his misery. Ivan's gaze settled on the bell, and he carefully peeled his collar down to reveal the wingspan of a blurry creature that appeared to be a bird.

"I gave this one to myself with the help of another boy—we mixed soot and piss and rigged up a needle to an electric razor. My father was proud, but I got a black eye for doing it all the same," Ivan said, smiling as if it were a fond family memory.

"You used...pee? Gross, dude!" Alfred replied. Ivan just laughed.

"It's how they do it in prison. My uncle filled my head with stories," Ivan replied, still smiling. Alfred, however, only frowned more.

"I'm pretty sure that's dangerous. And tattoos are, like, _forever._ What if you're sick of it later?" Alfred asked. Matthew nodded nearby, eyes round like saucers. Though Ivan sometimes said things that made them all wonder if he didn't lie a bit at times, concerning his blurry tattoo, he seemed to be telling the complete truth. Ivan shrugged his muscular shoulders carelessly.

"Tattoos earn respect where I am from. It is not the same in your culture, I think," Ivan replied. There was a long silence, in which nobody seemed sure of what to say. Perhaps forgetting others were listening in on his conversation with Ivan, Alfred asked him another question.

"How's it been going with the counselor?" Alfred asked, clearly worried by any mention Ivan made of his home life. Ivan shrugged.

"She thinks I am a liar. She asks questions, and I give her answers, and I can tell she does not believe me. She helps though, a little. Toris would sure as hell not be dancing with that loud-mouthed _petukhi_ tonight if it were not for her. She has helped me learn to control my temper."

"Is that your only tattoo?" Yao asked. Ivan shook his head.

"Tattoos are very important to my family. You see, you cannot claim a tattoo that you have not earned. This tattoo is a bird. It means freedom. But I did not earn it like I should have, and so that is why my father punished me. Still, he was proud I could take the pain. I was thirteen or so. I have since earned one."

"What did you do to earn it?" Arthur asked, looking a little unsettled by the topic. Despite the cold, Ivan lifted up his shirt and heavy sweater to reveal a sharp outline of a cat on his rib cage.

"It was for thievery. I stole something very valuable from an enemy of my uncle. My uncle is a _vor_. My father is not, and they argue about it sometimes...which path I should follow."

"A _vor_?" Matthew asked curiously.

"It means a man who follows the code of theives. You earn _vor_ tattoos in prison, but my father has made it very clear I will not spend any time there. _Vor _follow strict rules. They can't ever work for the government or obey the police, they can only earn money through criminal activities, and they can't show emotions. When my father decided I would go to school, my uncle gave me this tattoo anyway, thinking I would give up on this school shit and follow the _vor_ path, regardless of my father's wishes. He wants me to have at least one tattoo before I landed myself in prison."

"You don't have to go back, ya know," Alfred said quietly, but with burning intensity. "You can come stay with me this summer." Ivan smiled at his American friend.

"It's warm there, da? I am tempted. But I will obey my father, just as you will obey yours."

Arthur stared between the boys, feeling a bit muddled by the vodka, wondering how two boys so completely different in ideologies could have become friends. One was a nerdy poster boy for good behavior while the other was a few years away from immersing himself in a life of crime. Still, Alfred had bonded with Ivan somehow, and they had their own special friendship just like Alfred had with Matthew.

"So you saw Toris with Feliks at the dance?" Alfred asked, seemingly the only one brave enough (or insensitive enough) to broach the topic. Ivan, however, just smiled.

"Toris was fun for awhile, but he is like all the others. He fears me. I could see it in his eyes, and it made me want to give him a reason to _really_ be frightened. It's bad enough to take it in the ass—worse to be a weak little bitch on top of that."

"I'm letting that slide tonight since your drunk, but I've told you not to talk about Toris that way. He's still my friend," Alfred said, though his own words were a little slurred. Ivan shrugged.

"I admit, he was sweeter than the others, but I could not stand how he pitied me. Let him do what he pleases. I pity him for choosing such a weak replacement."

"Why would he pity you?" Yao asked. The Chinese boy scooted closer, snagging the bottle from Ivan and taking a long sip. Across the room, Matthew was half in Francis's lap, and their nuzzling and cuddling in the cold was becoming more and more suggestive. Arthur watched them not-so-subtly, a fierce scowl on his face.

"Because my mother is dead and my father is a hard man. To make it worse, I prefer to fuck boys. My father turns a blind eye, but there will be expectations of me, probably as early as this summer."

"Expectations?" Yao asked.

"Female prostitutes," Ivan replied, closing his eyes as if he were no longer really present. Alfred blinked several times across the room, scowling.

"Did you say what I _think_ you said?" he asked.

"No," Ivan replied. "I said nothing. Your boyfriend looks lonely. Why don't you pay him some attention and let Yao and I talk a bit?"

Easily distracted, Alfred scooted closer to Arthur again and nuzzled his shoulder.

"Why're you lonely, Arthur? All our friends are here. I'm here," Alfred said. Not in a much better state than Alfred, Arthur intertwined their hands and slumped against his roommate's taller frame.

"You kissed fatty Patty."

"It didn't feel like anything. She was all happy, but I didn't feel anything," Alfred said confusedly. "Arthur, why didn't I feel anything?"

Ivan watched their conversation for a moment, smiling, before turning to Yao and reaching out rather abruptly to feel the silkiness of his long hair.

"Like a girl," Ivan said. Another smile. "Perhaps I should take you home this summer and prove I can fuck a girl as well as any boy."

Feeling bolder, his sense of self-preservation gone, Yao smacked Ivan's hand away.

"I am _not_ a girl. You're drunk," Yao said irritably. Ivan nodded.

"Da. Aren't you?" Ivan asked. Yao _did_ feel a little unsteady, as if he had ridden a fast amusement park ride and just stepped off, but he didn't know if that was what being drunk felt like.

"Maybe. Why do you watch me all the time?" Yao asked. Ivan smirked.

"Why do you try to get at me through Alfred? Ever since your birthday party, you ask him about me. You think I don't know?" Ivan asked. "Are you too nervous to tell me you like me?"

"I'm too nervous to ask for your help," Yao blurted out, without meaning to at all. Maybe he was a little drunk. Ivan was studying him silently now, as if trying to fight past the influence of the vodka to understand what was being said.

"Help...with what?" Ivan asked.

"Help for my father. He wants me to talk to you about business matters, but you don't like it when students here do that—approach you about your family."

"No, I don't like that at all. I beat the shit out of them."

"That's why I was nervous," Yao explained. "But my father has expectations of me, as well. He might lose most of my family's fortune. I shouldn't be telling you this. I don't want to ask your help. I want my father to solve his own problems...but I worry for his safety. He has crossed the Triads."

"So you come to me to ask for help for your father, knowing I might beat up your pretty little face for doing so?"

"You won't," Yao said, with absolute certainty. Ivan raised a questioning brow, but smiled.

"Oh I won't? What makes you so sure?"

"You like me...or, at the very least, you like how I look."

"Da, I do," Ivan said. He leaned in close to Yao, his grip tightening in his silky black hair, his breath reeking of alcohol as he whispered in Yao's ear. "Sleep with me, and I will help you."

"_I_ am not one of your father's prostitutes. I will find some other way to help my father," Yao said, pulling back sharply and glaring hotly at the slightly drunken older boy. "I may want your help, but I do not _need _it. My family will endure without you."

Ivan smiled at him, a genuine smile that was both fond and amused.

"You are proud, and stronger than you look, like Alfred...less annoying, though. Forget what I said. I will help you if I can. You don't have to give me anything," Ivan decided. Yao eyed the taller boy's rosy lips and disheveled hair, his eyes that were so blue they almost looked violet. He leaned forward as if mesmerized, wanting Ivan and yet wishing he did not at the same time. He tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, and for a long moment, they simply sat like that, breathing the same air, their gazes locked.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Ivan asked. Yao blinked slowly, and then pulled away.

"No. Not until I'm different from all the others. I don't want to kiss you until you'll _feel _it."

"Maybe I can't feel anymore?" Ivan asked, strangely child-like. Yao gently touched his hair, almost the shade of snow, and marveled at how different they were from each other.

"Maybe you can't. Only time will tell," Yao said.

The moment was broken when a strangely forceful wind burst in through the window with an eerie moan. A cloud passed over the moon and they were pitched into darkness. Alfred, who had just a second before dozed off on Arthur's shoulder, let out a girlie scream.

"It's the dead chick! She's got my arm!" Alfred yelled. Matthew let out a cry and stumbled off Francis, who had been lovingly (if not a little sloppily) suckling on Matthew's neck. At the same time, Alfred and Matthew began running for the stairs. Arthur felt whatever had gripped Alfred brush against his own arm—an icy cold sensation that froze his skin even through layers of fabric, and decided retreating from the unknown was the best option. He stumbled after Alfred and tripped over Yao in his haste. Drunk and suddenly terrified by the awful moaning noises and the strange fluttering sound that filled the tower in the darkness, the boys practically fell over each other to get down the stairs. They descended much faster than they'd climbed, and they tumbled out into the night air rosy cheeked and breathless. They streaked for the dorms, running as hard as they could, pumping their young legs like the devil himself was chasing them down. They didn't stop until they reached the already quiet boy's dormitory and all stood panting heavily in the darkness.

"What happened tonight..." Arthur began, realizing that quite a bit of rather personal information had been shared.

"We can't ever talk about it to anyone else! It's gotta be a pact! We can' t let the other kids know the school is haunted," Alfred whispered far too loudly. Yao and Ivan's gazes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. Something was different between them now, but neither of them could quite pinpoint how.

"It has been a very interesting Halloween, but it's time for me to go to bed," Yao said quietly. "Good night." He headed a few rooms down and disappeared into the room he shared with Kiku. Francis, yawning and shaking his head a bit as if the whole night had just been a strange dream, looped his arm around Matthew's waist and guided the shorter boy to their room. Neither Francis nor Matthew even bothered to say good night.

"We should drink together again sometime. It doesn't take much booze to get you all hammered," Ivan said with his boyish grin.

"You messed around with Yao," Alfred said, though he hardly seemed to know or understand what he was saying. Ivan just grinned and patted his friend heartily on the back.

"You should sleep with your roommate tonight. Otherwise that dead girl might come back for you," Ivan said. Alfred let out a pitiful whine of fright and clung to Arthur's arm once more, burying his face in the shorter boy's shoulder.

"Thanks, Ivan," Arthur griped sarcastically. The tall Russian boy just laughed, disappearing into his own room.

"Well...come on, I suppose. I'm not sure what happened up there, but I'm sure there's a perfectly sound explanation," Arthur said tiredly, beginning to sober up some from the long run through the cold. Alfred, however, stuck to him like glue all the way into their room and into Arthur's bed.

USUK

The following Saturday dawned far too bright and early for Arthur's tastes. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his stomach was demanding food. He seemed to be in a much better state than Alfred, however, who woke up with an embarrassing tent in his pants and the need to puke. Both boys were still tangled up in Arthur's bed, a little sweaty and haphazardly dressed, both of them feeling very awkward.

"Err...it's normal. Happens to me, too. Just...err..." Arthur tried to shift from under his taller roommate and only managed to give Alfred some rather strong friction. The taller boy let out an embarrassed moan, which quickly turned into a nasty belch, followed by a mad dash to the toilet.

"Urggh," Alfred moaned pathetically. With a sigh and an eye roll, Arthur trudged into the bathroom after his roommate. Alfred was expelling the contents of his stomach in a rather violent fashion, muttering all the while, "_Never_ again!" Arthur was relieved to see his morning 'problem' had at least faded for the moment. Arthur gave his roommate's shoulder a comforting squeeze and then fetched him a glass of water.

"Here," Arthur offered. "Want something for the headache?"

"Yes, please," Alfred begged pitifully. Arthur went to get some aspirin from his bag and swallowed two tablets dry before bringing some to his roommate.

"At least we don't have class," Arthur said. Alfred nodded, wiping his mouth as he finally pulled away from the toilet bowl.

"What the _hell_ happened last night? I remember us going up into the tower..."

"Nothing much. We just sat around talking. Francis and Matthew made out...and you told me...err...well, it's not really important," Arthur said.

"What did I say?" Alfred asked in a tone that suggested he wasn't sure he _really_ wanted to know.

"You started talking about Patty, that's all."

"Oh," Alfred said, as if he suddenly knew what he had confessed.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, shifting awkwardly from side to side before deciding to give Alfred a moment of privacy. "Hurry up in the loo," he said, pulling the door closed. Alfred used the toilet the way it was intended to be used, still rubbing his queasy stomach, and then brushed his teeth for much longer than he usually did. He let his roommate in and went to his bed, collapsing on top of the covers and groaning when he realized it was only seven in the morning. A blush darkened his cheeks as his dream from the night before came back to him—he'd been with someone in the tower, but it had just been the two of them, and the girl (_'Was it a girl?'_ his brain questioned) touched him in such a fantastic way, and then that awful icy sensation was drowning him, and he woke up in a cold sweat rutting against his roommate. Awkward. No other word for it. Alfred groaned and rolled into his pillow, cursing how easily his dreams got him worked up.

He had rugby practice in three hours, but he really didn't want to go. Even breakfast sounded horrible, and usually Alfred only woke up in the morning because of the temptation presented by four sausage biscuits, hash browns, bacon, and eggs. What a weird, strange night, followed by an awkward, terrible morning. It was either the vodka or Ivan's fault—probably both. Alfred decided to blame his friend the next time they crossed paths.

Arthur emerged from the bathroom looking much fresher, having taken the time to shower. He paused at Alfred's bed as if he were going to sit beside him, but moved to his own bed instead.

"We got drunk," he said flatly. Alfred covered his eyes with his arm, clearly trying to block out the morning.

"Why the heck do people drink if this is how you feel afterwards?"

"It was nice for awhile. I was...upset last night, but the booze made it not matter as much," Arthur said, clearly choosing his words carefully.

"Why were you upset?" Alfred asked, half sitting up, concern in his voice. Arthur swallowed thickly and then glanced to the large window, a light blush on his cheeks.

"You kissed her. I knew you would when I saw you in the hallway with her, but I guess I didn't want you to do it, all the same," Arthur said with painful honesty. Alfred was silent for a long moment before he spoke.

"I didn't think you'd be jealous of me getting kissed first."

Arthur bit his lip. His friend was giving him an out, and he was very tempted to take it. He could pretend that was all it was, and he knew they'd go back to how they were before. But if he didn't...Alfred might not feel the same way he did. Alfred might not _want_ him to confess. Perhaps that was why he was misinterpreting his words? Arthur crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his face into his arms.

"So I'm jealous. Whatever," Arthur mumbled. Alfred rolled onto his side, his back facing Arthur.

"You could have anyone you wanted," Alfred said, now sounding as if _he_ were the jealous one.

Arthur scowled. _'I can't have you, though, and nobody else matters,' _he thought bitterly.

"The shower's all yours. Trust me, you should use it. You smell bloody awful," Arthur said a bit snidely, feeling rather vulnerable. With an irritated grunt, his roommate disappeared into the bathroom. Arthur imagined angrily what his roommate would probably do in the shower with thoughts of Patty or god-knows-who on his brain. Had he dreamed about a girl last night? Alfred thought he was sneaky in the mornings, using the shower in such an unconventional way, but Arthur always knew. Alfred usually sang in the shower and when he was trying so desperately to be quiet, there was only one conclusion Arthur could reach.

_'You haven't done that since home. Maybe that's why you're so worked up around him. I should spend this weekend at home and get away from him for a bit. I just need a chance to get control of myself,'_ Arthur thought with resolve. That was surely it. He was just repressed, and being in such close proximity to someone else was screwing up his libido.

USUK

When Alfred returned from rugby practice, the room felt much emptier. Arthur's suitcase was packed, and his favorite sweater was gone from its normal place on the back of the desk chair. For a moment, Alfred panicked and thought their strange fight (_was_ it a fight?) that morning had made Arthur want to give up on being his roommate, but he soon found this was only partially true. A note on his bed informed him that Arthur had decided to spend the rest of the weekend with his parents. There was no reason given, but Alfred couldn't help but feel it had something to do with him.

_'Of course it has something to do with you, freaking idiot! You practically dry humped him this morning and barely avoided puking all over him!' _Alfred thought angrily. Exhausted from being knocked around for an hour during practice, and sent running all over the field, Alfred flopped down as if boneless on his bed. His eyes shifted to Arthur's empty side of the room, specifically to the spare pillow, where Alfred had sneakily observed Arthur hiding a journal once when he thought Alfred was occupied with his video games.

"I shouldn't look," Alfred said firmly. He purposefully trained his eyes on the ceiling, but after only a few seconds, they slid back over to the inconspicuous looking pillow. "Gah! Stop thinking about it, Al! It's probably just notes on his sewing projects or something! I'd freak if he found my online journal. Don't go through his things."

Alfred swung his legs over the side of the bed, eyes locked on the pillow now, like a lion fixated on a rather tasty looking zebra.

"If he didn't want me to read it, he wouldn't leave it," Alfred reasoned. He crossed the room slowly, knowing he should stop and yet he was unable to do so. Not wanting to ruffle the perfectly made bed, Alfred tried to feel for the book as unobtrusively as possible, one ear cocked towards the door for any signs of unexpected entry.

All his worry was for nothing. Arthur had clearly taken the journal with him.

Feeling annoyed with himself for doing something so underhanded, Alfred vowed to leave Arthur's things alone and go find either Ivan or Matthew to waste the rest of the weekend, and put thoughts of Arthur firmly out of his mind.

**A/N: **Hey guys! Sorry this didn't come the day after all those updates. I started it then but this chapter was like pulling teeth. No clue why. That's why it's also short. A few notes, though:

A couple people have mentioned the 'aru' thing in Yao's speech pattern, but I haven't been using it intentionally. From what I've read, it was meant to mock how Chinese people speak Japanese, and since they are all speaking English in this story (unless otherwise stated, like how Matthew and Francis speak French when alone) I doubt he would use a Japanese word randomly. Thanks for the constructive criticism, though! I'm going to continue leaving it out, but I really do appreciate you guys taking the time to suggest it, since I was nervous about writing him and didn't really know what I was doing, lol.

The term Ivan uses to describe Poland in this chapter is the term given to prison bitches in Russia. Though Ivan says he's controlling his temper better, I'm still toying with the idea of him getting in some trouble by trying to get a little revenge on Toris. I haven't decided yet just how much of a troublemaker I want him to be. I like to think he was really bad his first year, and has since cooled it some so he doesn't get kicked out, since he's starting to like school better than the alternative (probably landing himself in prison). Ivan also made mention of the Russian _vor_, which are an especially crazy breed of Russian criminal. While lots of Russian crime has turned into college-educated men money laundering, smuggling, gambling, and conducting illegal business activities behind the face of multi-million dollar corporations (which is what I picture Ivan's father doing) there are a whole breed of criminals that basically aim to land themselves in prison and deal more in prostitution and drug trafficking, which is what Ivan's uncle does.

A reviewer pointed out there hasn't been a whole lot of sexual awkwardness yet, for two boys sharing a room, and I totally agreed with him. I was holding off because I didn't want it to lead into dangerous territory (e.g. me rushing things) but after nearly two and a half months together I think it was time to confront the morning erection/jerking off aspect of teenage boyhood, lol. Hope it wasn't _too_ graphic. This story will get more graphic later on, but I'll change the rating when it does.


	12. Alfred's First Rugby Game

Chapter 12

With November came the school's first official rugby match against a local team. It was a home game for World Academy, and it seemed to Alfred like the entire school was planning to attend. At least, the entire school attended the pep rally held the Friday before the opening game. The weather was crisp and cold, so the Student Council decided it would be a bonfire rally. They chose a barren field near the old bell tower and spent two whole meetings making posters, noisemakers, and a big banner for all the players to run through onto the field.

Normally, Arthur would have found all the attention being paid to the rugby team highly annoying, but as his own roommate was a team member, he found himself getting excited about the game. Besides, though the rugby team were mostly stupid, insulting upper classmen, they had warmed up to him since the start of the training season, due to all the practice sessions Arthur had faithfully come to watch. They hardly ever tried to trip him up in the hallways anymore, or cause him to drop his lunch tray in the cafeteria. It was more likely that they'd greet him, or give him a good-natured noogie if they passed him in the hallway. Arthur still could have done without them, but Alfred hero-worshipped them, so Arthur tolerated them as best he could manage.

"Which player is number 23 again?" Emily asked, her large paint brushed poised over a large poster board. Alfred was preparing for the pep rally with the team, so the Student Council was finishing up the last of the posters without him.

"Berwald Oxenstierna," Arthur replied. Emily shook her head in amusement and finished the poster.

"It's so cute how you go to watch all of Alfred's practices," she commented. Arthur blushed, and hastily began to work on a new poster.

"I just like watching rugby, that's all," Arthur said.

"I'd _love _to go to the game with you, Prince Arthur!" Meghan said with a predatory grin, suddenly appearing at Arthur's side. The royal flinched away, accidentally splattering his poster with paint as he did so.

"Err…no thank you. I mean, that is to say, I'll be sitting with my friends. Right, Francis?" Arthur called out, a little desperate sounding. From where Francis was lounging near the window (most definitely _not_ painting posters) a distracted sounding "Hmm?" came.

"I _said_ we'd be sitting together at the game. Speaking of the game, why aren't you painting posters? The pep rally starts in an hour and we're nowhere near done," Arthur fussed. Francis rolled his eyes.

"Matthew and I are not going to the silly pep rally. I do not care if those meat-heads win or lose a silly rugby game," Francis scoffed. Arthur scowled.

"But Alfred is on the team, and you're his friend. You should go to cheer for him," Arthur insisted. Francis winked at him.

"You are such a cute little girlfriend to your dear Alfred—" In the background, Meghan furiously denied that Arthur and Alfred were dating, "—but I would bet large sums of money that Alfred will not even step foot on the field."

Arthur knew it was probably true, and he frowned a bit as he turned the splotch of paint into a shaky number 50.

"You're likely right…but I'm going to cheer for him all the same. If you were less of a self-absorbed ponce, you'd do the same."

"So does this mean you need someone to sit with at the game?" Meghan asked. Arthur made an almost comical expression of unhappiness before he glanced one last, desperate time at Francis, who merely waved him off with a smirk.

"Great! Then it's all settled! I'll meet you on the field at 8 A.M. sharp tomorrow! Maybe we can hang out at the pep rally tonight, too?" Meghan pressed. Arthur firmly shook his head.

"I'll be staying with Alfred," he insisted. Meghan rolled her eyes.

"Geez, with the way you talk about him it's no wonder so many people think you're dating. You really should watch your words, Prince Arthur. I mean, _I_ know you aren't in love with that idiot, but…"

"Alfred is _not_ an idiot. He's my best friend. If you keep being so mean to him, I'll stop talking to you entirely," Arthur replied frostily. Meghan scowled, but held her tongue for the rest of the meeting. Emily just smiled at their antics.

USUK

Arthur had planned to spend the rally with Alfred, but his roommate was wholly absorbed in joking and rough housing with his rugby buddies. They sent him constantly to refill their cups and to go request certain songs. Finally, Arthur managed to catch hold of him by the sleeve and convince him to stop for a few seconds.

"Let them get their own drinks. Don't you want to help build the bonfire up?" Arthur asked. Alfred glanced longingly at his teammates, who were the center of attention in a large crowd of popular kids, but shrugged his gangly shoulders.

"Alright. I guess they can do without me for a few minutes. Let's go get some logs!" Alfred and Arthur slipped through the large crowd of students towards the pile of firewood, where they both selected hefty looking pieces.

"Are you nervous about the game?" Arthur asked. Alfred flashed a bright smile.

"Not at all! We're gonna win, for sure! We've been practicing super hard. No way we can lose," Alfred said. Arthur smiled and walked alongside his roommate to the rather large bonfire, where they tossed on their contributions. The flames danced wildly for a few moments, and a popular British punk song started blasting out of the speakers. Lots of students were dancing, and some were dancing in such a way that Arthur suspected Gilbert of spiking the punch bowl again, as he'd done at the Halloween dance.

"Hey, I wanted to tell you that it really means a lot to me that you've come to all my practices. I mean, I don't even play usually," Alfred said with a light blush, staring deep into his glass of punch as if it held the answers to life's mysteries. Arthur smiled and shrugged.

"It's fun hanging out with you on the sidelines. I'll still come though, even when you're the star player."

"Ha! Like that'll ever happen," Alfred snorted dismissively. Arthur grinned, taking a sip of his own punch.

"You never know. You work harder than any of those guys do. It's bound to pay off eventually," Arthur said. The two friends began talking about the science fiction book they had both just finished reading and about a particularly awesome player on their online game that had demolished their squad the previous night. Any awkwardness that lingered after Arthur's visit home seemed to be gone, and it was as if their little spat had never happened. The morning after the dance was filed firmly in the category of 'And We Shall Never Speak of This Again.'

Of course, little reminders kept popping up unwelcome. Intruding into their private little world, Patty approached and gave Alfred an awkward hug. On the other side of the bonfire, the rugby team cracked up and let out loud whoops of jeering support, causing Alfred's face to flush a deep scarlet color.

"Good luck tomorrow, Alfred. I'll be cheering for you," Patty said with a sweet smile. Arthur scowled at her rather pointedly, but when he realized she only had eyes for Alfred, he turned his glare to the bonfire instead. Still blushing, Alfred laughed sheepishly.

"Thanks, Patty. I doubt I'll even get to play, but it's great that so many students are gonna support the team," he said. Smiling at Arthur, who was practically radiating annoyed vibes by this point, Patty excused herself.

"You two have a nice night. I'll see ya later, Alfred," she said with a wave. Alfred smiled at her warmly and waved goodbye, almost sloshing some liquid out of his cup as he did so.

"Hey! Since Francis and Mattie aren't going to the game, and since Ivan is banned from attending, you could sit with Patty," Alfred suggested. Arthur snorted.

"No," he said flatly, his scowl deepening. After a second's pause he added, "Why can't Ivan attend?" Alfred chuckled a bit nervously.

"Ah, you know Ivan. He went to a basketball game last year and started yelling that there was a fire or something…I think a kid got trampled. _Anyway_, he's not allowed to go to school sporting events anymore."

"I…see. Alfred, doesn't Ivan ever scare you, just a little bit?" Arthur asked. Alfred just laughed.

"Nah! Ivan's harmless! He gets confused about what's right and wrong sometimes, but he's a good guy deep down!"

"Whatever you say," Arthur replied with a disbelieving sigh. "Well, this has been fun, and I'm pleased so many students turned up, but it's getting rather late. I'm heading back to the dorm. I suppose you'll stay to hang out with your rugby mates?"

"Yeah. I'll be quiet when I come to bed, though," Alfred said. For some reason, that innocent statement made Arthur blush, and he was grateful that they had moved away from the fire so that the darkness of the evening hid his reddened cheeks from Alfred.

"I'm a sound sleeper, so it's not like I mind all your noise," Arthur finally replied. Alfred just smiled, and took Arthur's cup from him to throw away later.

"Yeah, that's why we're the best roommates ever! We should have a song," Alfred said. Arthur's blush just deepened.

"Alfred, only couples have songs."

"Nu-uh! We could have a best friend's song! I'll have to think of some good ones and get back to you," Alfred replied, grinning boyishly. Arthur just rolled his eyes and left, waving goodbye casually.

USUK

"I can't go!" Alfred moaned, before vomiting harshly into their trashcan. Arthur winced, and debated for the millionth time if he should go fetch Matthew. Maybe the calm Canadian would do a better job of talking Alfred out of his hysteria.

"You're probably not even going to play!" Arthur insisted again, giving his roommate's back a comforting rub as he violently dry heaved again.

"I _am_ gonna play, and it's all gonna depend on me, and I'm gonna screw up, and then it'll be on national television, and my dad will disown me," Alfred whined before puking again, due to the combination of nervousness and a hangover.

"Alfred, you're being ridiculous. It's _just_ a game," Arthur said firmly. His roommate shook his head, curling pathetically around the trashcan.

"I'm gonna mess it up somehow. I can't go!" Arthur was disturbed to see that his roommate was actually crying—big, frustrated tears slipping out of impossibly blue eyes.

"Okay…okay. I…I wasn't going to tell you about this because I don't think you really need it, but I have something that will help."

Alfred looked up at him with hugely hopeful eyes.

"My mum sent them to me…to…err…help me stay up when I'm studying. They'll give you lots of energy and make you really focused. You can't mess up when you take them," Arthur said. Alfred frowned slightly.

"That's breaking the rules, though, isn't it?" Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head.

"These aren't drugs. It's…err…just like aspirin."

"Really? And you'll let me have some?" Alfred asked. Trying not to smile, Arthur nodded. He made a big show of rummaging around in the baggage he'd stored in the closet, and pulled out the innocent multivitamin. He fetched Alfred a glass of water and handed it to him.

"Here ya go. Drink all of that water. You'll have to eat something with it, too."

"Okay! Man, thank you _so_ much! You're a _lifesaver_, Arty!"

"How about you never call me that again, and we'll call it even, hmm?" Alfred snorted in amusement and swallowed the pill, chugging the water. They both waited a second to see if it was going to come right back up, but Alfred managed to hold it down.

"To the cafeteria?" Alfred asked with a hesitant smile. Arthur nodded, his own smile finally breaking through his mask of mock seriousness.

"To the cafeteria," he confirmed. By the time they reached the table where all the rugby players were sitting (most of them shoveling huge amounts of food into their mouths) Alfred was his usual chipper, happy-go-lucky self.

"Hey little buddy! Didn't think you'd make it. You drank like a champ last night!" a team member praised. Arthur scowled primly at the rugby players, having no desire to eat at their table, but took one last moment to whisper to Alfred before he left to join their friends.

"It will kick in immediately and last for about four hours. You'll likely be really tired afterwards. You're going to do amazing, and I'll be watching and cheering, okay?"

Completely ignoring his rugby mates, Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur in a spontaneous hug of pure gratitude.

"Thanks, Arthur! You totally rock!"

"Awww, poor Fatty Patty will be heartbroken when she finally realizes Al is gayer than aids!" a player joked loudly, sending the table into peals of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, guys, lay off already!" Alfred replied good-naturedly, releasing Arthur from his hold and squeezing into the last remaining seat between two burly players. Feeling a little dazed, Arthur made his way across the cafeteria and sat beside Ivan. The taller boy took one look at his face and chuckled.

USUK

Alfred sat in the locker room, palms sweating and worrying nervously on his bottom lip. His uniform was a little big on him, and his helmet already felt gross due to how badly he was sweating.

'_I don't normally sweat like this, or feel so jittery—must be due to whatever that pill was Arthur gave me. I feel sharp though—like a champ! I can totally do this!'_ Alfred thought, nearly jumping off the bench when the coach barreled into the locker room.

"YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!" the coach shouted, slamming a folder down onto a bench that was full of important looking medical papers. Alfred was confused, but then he noticed some of the best players on their team shifting nervously, eyeing the reports as if they already knew what they said. Alfred looked around, hopelessly confused.

"When it was reported to the Headmaster last night that _some_ of you shot up with fucking steroids last night, I had to get out of bed in the middle of the night and do drug tests. And guess what? YOU. FAILED. You know who you are. You're benched for the next six games."

"But coach! That's half the season!" The quarterback protested. The coach got right in his face, screaming so loudly that his spit flew on the muscular senior.

"I have NEVER been so disappointed in World Academy boys before! This is a DISGRACE! YOU are a disgrace! I have half a mind to take your Captain badge away!"

Alfred felt enormous guilt rolling in his stomach, but he thought desperately of Arthur's words—what he'd taken wasn't drugs. Arthur's mom had sent it to him. There was no way she'd give him something that would get her son in trouble. Still, Alfred felt terrible for his teammates. Maybe if they'd known about Arthur's pills, they wouldn't have taken something as dangerous as steroids?

"We don't have any of our best players now. This game is pretty much over already. Oxenstierna, you're standing in for Captain," The coach proceeded to give the tall, quiet Swedish boy the best advice he could considering their unusual line-up. Alfred scanned the room, noting just how many guys were stripping out of their uniforms. He did the math in his head.

'_I'm going to play. Oh shit! I'm going to play!'_ he thought with an unusual mix of terror and excitement.

"Jones is useless on defense—they'll plow right over him—so you're only option is to use him as a Winger. He's fast, and he can catch a ball…sometimes. Just focus on preventing the line breaks and going for the hit-ups. Don't try to be a hero."

Berwald gave the coach a grunting affirmative and eyed the twelve players he had to work with. They were essentially the substitutes for the substitutes, but it was all they had. He nodded in a determined sort of way at Alfred, now the fastest player on the team. Alfred thanked Arthur a million times in his head for the energy pill and nodded back. He could do it. He could definitely do it.

USUK

Arthur found himself sitting between Yao and Meghan, watching with shocked green eyes as only a third of the team came bursting onto the field through the banner they'd made. Alfred was among them, but where was everyone else? Even the Captain was absent—instead Berwald seemed to be directing the players.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Arthur asked, forgetting the number 50 poster he'd been planning to wave wildly when Alfred ran onto the field.

"Some players are missing, yes?" Yao asked, squinting down at the field. "There is Alfred, though."

"Hey guys! We didn't miss anything, did we?" Matthew asked, plopping down behind Arthur. The British royal waved at the field in shock.

"Most of the bloody team is missing. Berwald's talking to Alfred as if he's going to play," Arthur said. Francis (who looked as though he'd been dragged to the game) raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What? Alfred is going to actually play? Oh, this should be good."

"Aww, wow! I hope he does okay! Was he nervous this morning?" Matthew asked. Arthur grimaced.

"A little bit. I think he'll be fine, though. I _hope_ he'll be fine. God, look at the other team! They're monsters! If one of them tackles Alfred…"

"Ha. If Berwald puts Alfred in the scrum, he's a gonner," Meghan commented with cruel sounding delight at the prospect. Arthur scowled at her, and then bit his lip worriedly. She was right, much as he hated to admit it. There were only a few positions Alfred could play safely if the coach wanted him to survive the game.

Berwald and the other team's captain headed out for the coin toss. Arthur started to pray.

It was agonizing to watch. The teams were fairly evenly matched and the ball was changing sides so frequently it was hard to keep up. They seemed to be fighting over the same few meters of grass without hardly any progress. The score was close, but World Academy was down by the end of the second half. If they could only score a converted try, they could potentially hold the point gain until the second half ended in six minutes, but Arthur was too afraid to hope. Alfred had played the entire game as a winger, and the opposing team had been brutal. Alfred had started the game sprinting like a gazelle down the field, but one-too-many tackles had left him limping and barely managing a brisk jog.

The play began, and Arthur suspected Berwald was going for a drive, but suddenly the ball was soaring in a graceful arc off to the side of the field, where Alfred was running hard to catch it. Everyone stood up, signs and noisemakers forgotten, everything seeming to go silent as the ball sailed in a perfect spiral…into the arms of the opposing team. Tackled hard to the sideline, Alfred missed the pass and the flawless interception was carried all the way down the field, securing the win for the other team.

Some people sat down, but worse, most simply began to leave, hoping to beat the crowd. The game was over.

"Shoulda known that spaz Jones wouldn't make the catch. Wonder why the real team was out?"

"What a loser! He cost us the game!"

"I hope they kick him off after this. What a waste of space—I could totally do better."

"You ready to go Prince Arthur?" Meghan asked, interrupting all the jeering comments Arthur was hearing everyone say. She was even daring enough to loop her arm around his. Irritated, Arthur shrugged her off. He climbed down the bleachers, pushing past his rude classmates that were still talking of Alfred's failure, until he was standing at the fence. The time was called and the World Academy players drifted off the field, limping and hurt.

Arthur ran along the fence till he reached the gate, and didn't hesitate to slip inside.

"Berwald, what happened?" he asked. The tall Swedish boy shook his head glumly.

"The Capt'n and s'me oth'rs fail'd a drug test l'st night. They're b'nned for six games," Berwald explained in short, heavily accented English. The large boy seemed overcome with disgust and disappointment, and left the field after tossing his helmet with a satisfying _thunk_ against the player bench. Arthur moved around the downtrodden players, not nearly so cocky and loud now, until he was crouched at Alfred's side.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Arthur said. His roommate pulled off his helmet, cradling it against his stomach, his shoulders hunched.

"Even with your pill I couldn't do it. I just _suck_ at this!" Alfred kicked angrily at the ground, big, frustrated tears filling his eyes. Arthur winced and glanced around, realizing almost everyone had already deserted the field. Gingerly, Arthur sat beside his roommate.

"It was just a vitamin, Alfred. I didn't give you anything special. I thought you just needed some confidence," Arthur confessed. Alfred scowled, the tears now flowing much faster.

"Well, guess I proved that theory wrong. I don't need confidence—I need a new body!"

"Alfred…don't say such things. You played the best I've ever seen! So what if you missed a pass? You're not giving yourself credit for the three you caught during the first half," Arthur said.

"Yeah, only to get smeared into the ground seconds later," Alfred grumbled. Arthur's hand somehow found its way to Alfred's shoulder, where it rested comfortingly.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur asked. Alfred wiped at his tears with a muddy arm, streaking even more dirt over his shining cheekbones.

"I'm okay," he said. "My ankle hurts a bit, that's all."

"You might have twisted it. Come on, let me help you," Arthur said. His friend angrily rubbed away the rest of his tears and sniffed a few times. When he seemed to have a little control back, he hoisted his weary body off the ground and leaned heavily on his roommate, arm looped around the shorter boy's shoulders.

"I'm really proud of you, Alfred. You played with everything you had. No matter what anyone else may say, you did your absolute best."

Alfred didn't immediately reply, but for a moment, he dropped his head down and pressed his forehead against Arthur's sweet-smelling blond hair, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to the curve of Arthur's ear.

"Thanks, Arthur," he whispered, before his head slumped forward tiredly and he shifted even more of his weight on the smaller boy, who found that he didn't mind it at all.

USUK

"Hey guys!" Alfred chirruped happily. Francis and Matthew, who had been just about to share a rather sweet kiss, groaned a bit at the interruption. Alfred had found them outside the library, where they'd been walking and enjoying the beautiful fall foliage.

"Hi, Alfred. What are you up to today?" Matthew asked politely. Francis still seemed annoyed that they had been interrupted.

"Where's Arthur? I thought he was supposed to keep you on a leash," Francis joked. Ignoring him, Alfred pressed two obnoxiously bright fliers into their hands.

"I got Coach to sponsor us, so the Hero Club is official now! I made these fliers so the whole school will know!"

"Oh God, my name isn't on them, is it?" Francis asked. Matthew giggled, and examined the poster. It was really rather good. Of course, it didn't surprise him—Alfred's art was pretty amazing, and it always seemed to be improving. The flier boldly proclaimed that the Hero Club was now official, and accepting requests for help.

"Nobody is going to take this seriously," Francis said, passing his flier to a student that just happened to be walking by.

"Stop joking around, Francis! Of course they will! We'll be super swamped at the meeting tonight—just you wait. It's in the gym at six. I figure we'll need the space for all the people that will show up needing our help!" Alfred enthused. Then he was gone in a whirl of blond hair and happy blue eyes.

"He seems to have bounced back from the rugby disaster, at least," Matthew commented, folding up his own flier and tucking it into his pea coat pocket. Francis laced their gloved fingers together and they continued their walk.

"Nothing can keep that boy down. I have no idea how you and Arthur handle him in large doses," Francis replied. Matthew just smiled, and leaned against his boyfriend's warm side.

"It's almost Thanksgiving, you know. Are you going to celebrate with me?" Matthew asked. Francis smiled charmingly, leaning over to kiss Matthew's cheek.

"That's your holiday where you eat a huge meal, no?" Francis asked. Matthew nodded, smiling, but elaborated for his French boyfriend.

"It's for celebrating all the reasons we have to be thankful. I've never really cared about the holiday much…but this year, I have someone that I'm very, _very _thankful for," Matthew confessed with a light blush. Laughing, Francis twirled the shorter boy into his arms, nuzzling their noses together, staring deeply into Matthew's eyes.

"I will most certainly celebrate with you, _mon cher_, even if it means eating Alfred's terrible cooking."

Matthew grinned and claimed Francis's lips in a sweet kiss, pretty leaves twirling down from the branches around them.

USUK

"I didn't print the time wrong on the flier, did I?" Alfred asked, looking like a little puppy that had been left on the side of the road. The reluctant members of the Hero Club (who were sprawled lazily about the very empty gym) just rolled their eyes.

"Nobody's coming, Alfred," Yao said, turning another page in his history text. Sitting next to him, Ivan toyed with a lock of the Asian boy's long hair idly. The two of them were very cozy these days, rarely seen apart. Alfred had asked Ivan about it, but the Russian boy claimed they weren't dating—merely working together for their father's.

"I am getting hungry. Must we really skip dinner to wait here?" Francis asked, directing the question more at Matthew than at Alfred.

"We can give it another half-hour, can't we? Then we'll go eat, I promise," Matthew said. Francis sighed dramatically, but stayed where he was. Alfred glanced at Arthur, confusion written all over his face.

"I don't understand. I passed out all the fliers, and I made like a million!" Arthur was preparing to give a speech explaining (yet again) why the students would deal with their problems themselves instead of coming total strangers, when the gym door opened and Alfred's eyes lit up in hope.

For a long moment, it was silent. The Hero Club stared at the petite boy who had entered as he slowly crossed the gym towards them. He wore old-fashioned clothing, and he had a cap pulled down over his eyes. When he finally did look up, fierce green eyes stared at them challengingly.

"My name is Eli…and you're going to help me."

**A/N: **Such a fun chapter to write! It was gonna be longer, but I decided to cut it off here to drum up some suspense! Eli is not an OC. Can you guess who he is, lol? Hope you guys enjoyed the first rugby match of the season. I certainly enjoyed writing Alfred and Arthur after it was over! Those two are just too cute for their own good.

A reviewer response:

A British reader mentioned that my terminology is off, as British people don't use the same school terms that Americans do. That was totally laziness on my part. Though the school is set up on a four year model, and does use American terminology, she's right in that Arthur wouldn't use those same terms likely. I'll need to do a bit of research and then do some corrections. Thanks!


	13. Hero Club Mission: Help Elizabeta!

Chapter 13

The members of the Hero Club studied the young boy curiously, trying to place him. It was finally Arthur who recognized him.

"You're the boy that's always hanging about the music room," Arthur said. The boy's cheeks flushed with color and he nodded, seemingly torn between embarrassment and brashness. Alfred closed the distance between them and extended his hand with a beaming smile.

"I'm Alfred Jones, President of the Hero Club! What do you need help with?" Alfred asked. The boy eyed his hand distrustfully for a moment before shaking it briefly.

"I…well…I've heard rumors…"

"This isn't going to be good," Arthur interrupted with an impatient eye roll. The boy pressed on stubbornly.

"I've heard you're all gay!" he finally said, his voice echoing loudly in the gym. There was a long, awkward silence before Alfred finally recovered.

"Err, not exactly, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"If you're not queer, I don't need your help. I'm pretty sure you _are _a pansy though, based on how badly you butchered that catch last week," Eli accused. Like an angry mother hen, Arthur joined Alfred's side and sneered down at the boy.

"You're awfully rude, aren't you? I don't know how you ask for help where you're from, but I can assure you an attitude like that won't get you very far here," Arthur fussed. The boy scowled, and looked as though he was about to challenge Arthur to some sort of fight, but Alfred stepped in between the two, placing a bracing hand on each of them. Unfortunately for Alfred, however, there was something about Eli's chest that didn't feel quite right…

The smack was loud, and it sent Alfred reeling, clutching his reddened jaw. Arthur pushed the boy in response, startling everyone when the cap went flying and it was revealed that the "boy" actually had impressively long hair secured in a bun atop his…her…head.

"Don't feel me up, you loser!" Eli screeched, recovering from her stumble and pointing an accusing finger at Alfred, who looked crossed between horrified and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize! I didn't mean to touch your…err…I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize!" Arthur rebutted. "She obviously wants people to think she's a boy, so she shouldn't get bent out of shape when someone touches her chest!"

"I came for help from the French boys, not from you, eyebrows!" the girl retorted, still protectively clutching an arm over her underdeveloped chest. Arthur practically growled, but Alfred placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Arthur. We're here to help her, remember? You'd be nervous, too, if you were in her shoes," Alfred said, clearly not phased at all by being smacked around. Arthur just sighed, seemingly resigned to the girl with the horrid manners.

"You wish to talk to us, I take it? Might I ask why?" Francis finally interrupted, though politely. The girl nodded, glaring once more at Arthur before nervously approaching Francis and Matthew.

"I need to look like a girl. There's someone…someone I'm very fond of…but he only notices girls. I've heard guys like you are good with this sort of thing, so you have to help me," Eli demanded. Francis and Matthew shared surprised glances, and then smiled. Moving quickly, Yao approached Eli from behind and swiftly undid the pin securing her hair.

"Let's see what we're working with, hmm?" Yao asked, sounding like someone critiquing a piece of artwork.

"My father won't let me cut it, but I never wear it down," Eli said, shifting nervously under her voluminous waves of light brown hair. It was snarled badly in some places, alternately frizzy and oily in others.

"Now I recognize you. You were in my history class before your schedule changed. I thought your name was Elizabeta?" Matthew asked in his soft-spoken way. The girl nodded, still blushing rather hard.

"I prefer Eli. So can you fix me or not?" she asked, glancing between Yao, Francis and Matthew. Ivan collected his book bag, grinning at them.

"I do not think I can be of much assistance for this one. Maybe next time, da? When you need to crush someone's kneecaps for a reasonable price, you call me," Ivan said with a wink. She flinched away from the taller boy as he passed her, clearly having heard different types of rumors about Ivan. Watching the Russian boy leave, Arthur began to collect his things, too.

"I'm with Ivan. I have more important things to do than play dress up with some gender confused girl. I _also_ resent the implication that just because a person is gay, you automatically assume—"

"Arthur?" Francis asked with a smile, interrupting the British boy's tirade.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, clearly successfully distracted.

"Piss off. Not all of us here are still hiding in the closet, uncomfortable with our sexuality and our masculinity," Francis turned to Elizabeta with an elegant little bow. "Of _course_ we can help you. When we are done with you, this boy will be a fool not to notice your beautiful transformation!"

Arthur's jaw fell open and he moved it a few times weakly, unable to even articulate his outrage. Laughing, Alfred casually looped an arm around his roommate's shoulders.

"How 'bout we be the judges? You guys do your stuff, and me and Arthur will let you know how it looks when you're all done! We'll wait in our room, okay?" Alfred offered. With a glance at his furious little friend he added, "At least you can trust Arthur not to hold back his true opinion."

Ducking under Alfred's arm, the furious Brit stormed out of the gym after Ivan, making sure to slam the door as loudly as possible on his way out. Seemingly a bit confused by Arthur's sudden and terrible bad mood, Alfred just shrugged cheerily and followed after him with a friendly wave over his shoulder and wishes for good luck.

Surrounding the nervous girl with matching grins, Yao, Francis and Matthew led her towards the main doors of the school.

USUK

After a speedy shopping trip in London, Francis, Matthew, and Yao had sent Elizabeta into the bathroom with detailed instructions on how to use the products inside.

"First, you will use the blue bottle—that is your basic shampoo," Francis said.

"Use my conditioner afterwards. It's in the orange bottle. You don't need all that much, just a small circle in the palm of your hand," Matthew added.

"And do not just plop it on the crown of your head. See how your crown is oily and your ends are dry? Massage the conditioner into the ends, not at the scalp," Francis informed.

"So first the blue bottle, then the orange, and then do that process all over again. When you're shampooing the first time, to really let the hair soak, you can do your exfoliating, moisturizing, and shaving before you rinse. Use the skin care products," Matthew said. Elizabeta blinked, clearly a little overwhelmed. Despite her expression, Yao jumped in without mercy, pushing a red silk pouch into Elizabeta's arms.

"I make these myself. The small white bottle is a moisturizer that works best in the shower. Make sure the water is hot so the steam will open your pores," Yao advised. Elizabeta looked disturbed.

"My what?" she asked. Ignoring her, Matthew popped into the bathroom a moment and then returned, holding a brown bottle and a men's razor.

"This is the leave-in conditioner. There're two in there, but this one smells a little more girly. Francis's smells like cologne. I think Francis's razor is a little sharper than mine, so use this one, but be careful—it has a lot of blades."

"I've never…um…I don't know how…"

They all stared at her, waiting. Blushing a furious scarlet, she finally admitted what was bothering her.

"I've never shaved before!"

"Oh, is that all?" Francis asked, clearly unruffled. "That is no problem. We can show you. Matthew, _mon cher_, do you mind?"

"Not at all. Come on, Eli. I'll show you how to do it so you don't cut up your knees or your ankles. The key is to use lots of moisturizing cream first, and to shave in the direction of the hair growth. You _never_ want to shave dry."

With much trepidation, Elizabeta entered the boy's bathroom and marveled at all the skin and hair products that filled each available shelf. Not even her roommate, who seemed to be a normal enough girl, had _this_ many types of products. To make matters worse, most of the labels were in French, though she spotted some English in the mix.

Matthew stepped out of his pants without any embarrassment, revealing form-fitting red and white briefs. Elizabeta blushed even further, cursing herself for thinking this make-over idea was a good one. She never in all of her life imagined she'd find herself in a bathroom with a gay boy, learning to shave her legs. As the water turned on, and Matthew set to work, Elizabeta finally recovered from her embarrassment enough to watch what the soft-spoken boy was doing, so that she could imitate his actions later.

USUK

She emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, her hair wet and curly around her slender shoulders, her body tucked securely inside a big fluffy towel. Francis had pulled the foot rest into the center of the room, and had hooked up the hair dryer and the straightener nearby. Elizabeta's eyes widened to see even _more_ hair care products, this time for styling.

She sat, clutching her towel, and Yao and Francis started working on combing out her long tresses and treating them for damage. With big, round brushes, they began to blow dry and brush, straightening some parts and leaving others curly, until Elizabeta blushed at the impressive way her hair flowed delicately around her shoulders. She barely had any time to appreciate the new style before Matthew was blocking her view of the mirror, a pair of tweezers in hand.

"You teased poor Arthur about his eyebrows, but yours aren't much better. This is going to hurt a bit," Matthew warned, before he began plucking and smoothing the tiny little hairs. Elizabeta flinched and cursed, and nearly cried, but finally the torture was done and she had to admit, she really did look much better. While shopping, they had bought some simple make-up—gloss, eye shadow, eye liner and mascara. With disturbing ease, Francis explained to her how to use all of them.

"Yao and I have different styles, but I think they complement each other quite nicely. Put on the dress I picked out, and wear the shoes Yao found. You'll need the knee-highs, and the flower hair clip."

"Oh, and don't forget the secret weapon," Matthew said with a grin, tossing her the bag containing the tiny, padded bra. Thinking her cheeks would catch on fire if she blushed anymore, Elizabeta took the garments in her arms, careful not to rumple them, and returned once more to the bathroom to change. The boys waited for her to come out, pleased with their work.

"We should have taken a picture of her before," Matthew joked.

"I'm sure Alfred and Arthur's reactions will be proof enough that it was a dramatic change," Francis replied. He turned to Yao with a pleased smile.

"I'm very interested in those products you made. You'll have to show me how you do that," Francis said. Yao smiled, pleased at the recognition of his creations, and nodded.

"The Chinese have been making skin and hair products at home for centuries. They are the very best for smooth skin and silky hair," Yao said with pride. It was hard to argue with him—the boy's own skin and locks were just as smooth and silky as he claimed, even putting Francis's to shame.

The door creaked open slowly, and with surprising gentleness, Elizabeta emerged from the bathroom. Her dress was old fashioned looking, but it suited her, and it was modernized with a few unexpected accessories that somehow coordinated perfectly, even though viewed separately, they would never seem to go together. The shoes gave her height, and she walked a little straighter, which accentuated the soft curves of her chest (enhanced just enough by the padded bra). Her hair, adorned simply with a pretty flower on a clip, flowed around her in enviably soft waves. The cute blush on her cheeks completed the picture, and all three boys gave her beaming smiles.

"You will knock him off his feet!" Francis praised.

"You look like a beautiful lady now," Yao said. Matthew just smiled, happy to see Elizabeta look so surprised by her own beauty and feminine charm.

"Let's go show Alfred and Arthur—they're not going to believe it's still you!" Matthew said. With a small, though very happy looking smile, Elizabeta did a little twirl, holding the folds of her dress.

"He'll definitely like this…but even better…_I _like it. I didn't think I would, but somehow…it feels kind of nice," she admitted.

"As long as you like it, and feel confident and beautiful, that is all that matters—it is the first key to _true_ beauty," Francis said. Charmingly, he extended his hand. With a grin that hid sparkles of tomboyish amusement, Elizabeta laced her arm around his and allowed him to escort her across the hallway.

Matthew knocked on the door, realizing it had gotten fairly late.

"They'll still be awake, but what about this boy of yours?" he asked. Elizabeta glanced at the moon rising steadily outside the window.

"No…it's perfect. He always plays just before bed. He'll expect me to come, though he rarely acknowledges that I'm there," she said. The door opened and Alfred's face lit up in surprise.

"Holy crap! Is that really you, Eli? You look amazing! You have boobs, too! How come I didn't see those before?" Alfred asked, his eyes gravitating downwards seemingly on their own accord. Before Elizabeta could smack him again, Arthur pushed him out of the doorway.

"What on earth are you babbling…about?" Arthur trailed off as he got an eyeful of the beautiful girl, who smirked challengingly at him.

"Well, eyebrows?" she provoked. Arthur's face flushed with color and he frowned, turning his nose up primly. All the same, the admiration shining in his eyes was unmistakable.

"_Obviously_ it's an improvement. You look…very nice," Arthur finally managed. Elizabeta's smirk softened into a smile.

"You know Roderich. You play piano together sometimes. Do you think…?" she trailed off, clearly unsure. A little surprised at the name she'd revealed, Arthur blinked a few times, thinking of the quiet yet traditional boy that seemed to live in the music room.

He would certainly like Elizabeta's new look; he was a little old fashioned, and concerned enough about his own appearance to make sure that his uniform was always crisply ironed and perfectly clean.

"He'll notice you. I'm sure of it," Arthur said, giving her a small encouraging smile.

"Then I should go, before he finishes practicing for the night. Thank you all! I'll let everyone know what a great help you were!" Elizabeta said, offering Matthew, Francis, and Yao quick hugs before hurrying off down the hall, curls bouncing behind her.

"_Great_. Now everyone's gonna think the Hero Club is a hair salon. That's _so_ not cool," Alfred pouted. Francis, however, shook his head and yawned.

"That was a lot of hard work. The two of _you_ can take the next unfortunate girl. Matthew and myself only have so much time to play hero...though I do look rather spectacular in tight fitting clothing, no?" Francis asked Matthew playfully. His boyfriend rolled his eyes, but kissed Francis on the lips.

"God help the next girl, then," Yao said with a snort, eyeing Alfred's slovenly pajamas and Arthur's wild eyebrows with playful mirth in his eyes.

"I think I've taken enough abuse for one evening. Good _night_!" Arthur said, just barely pulling Alfred back into their room before he firmly closed the door. Matthew, Francis, and Yao's laughter rang down the hallway.

USUK

Elizabeta nervously approached the archway that led to the magnificently marbled music room, where the baby grand rested in a room full of floor to ceiling windows. The night sky was streaked with clouds, but a few stray stars poked through, glittering determinedly. The moon was nearly full, heavy and round in the sky outside the window, as if staying nearby just to hear the soft piano melodies. Her footsteps slowed and then stopped. She reached for the archway with her hand, partly to brace her shaking body, and also to affirm that she was really there, and had taken such a dramatic step to gain his attention. The handsome brunet boy sat at the piano like always, his fingers hidden from her view, but his look of serenity perfectly visible for her to admire. This was how she loved to watch him, and she could do so for as long as he would let her.

Her nerves faded away as the soft music enveloped her, and her eyes closed gently in bliss. During the hectic school day, she felt like there was a lightening storm inside her, always crackling and thundering, but his gentle music soothed her without fail. There was only the gentle tinkling of the piano, the last few high notes ringing out before the song fluttered away.

"Eli…you look…" Roderich trailed off, his voice hard to read. Suddenly feeling too nervous to bear, Elizabeta crossed the room and stood beside him, hands clutched in front of her and hidden in the folds of her dress.

"Just play something for me, okay? That's how I understand you best," she said, her determination overpowering. He stared at her considering for a moment, a fair amount of appreciation lighting his eyes, and finally scooted down slightly on the bench. He'd never done so before, but he invited her to sit.

"A duet, then. Place your hand like this," he said, gently lifting her hand to the keys, his own slender fingers positioning hers. His hands were soft, but the tips of his fingers were callused, likely from playing the violin. She stared at their connected hands, the pearly white keys beneath them. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, or at the very least, trying to lend its services as a loud metronome. He was so very close, pressed against her side, and she could smell his unique aroma—like rosin dust and old, yellow sheet music.

Gently, he guided her fingers into pressing a simple series of notes, and repeated the motion until she had mastered it. His own hands lifted to the piano and began to accompany her in a surprisingly sweet melody. She had never heard him play something so free and unburdened.

"This can be your song. Truth be told, I've been working on it for you for some time now. It was missing something, though, and I couldn't figure out what until I saw you in the doorway just now," he confessed.

She blushed heatedly, her fingers fumbling on the keys. His hands continued moving smoothly, bringing the song to its conclusion. He half-turned to her, and his hand rose slowly to tuck her hair behind her ear, and gently caress the flower nestled in the auburn waves.

"Could you tell from the song that I think you are a very beautiful girl, Elizabeta?" he asked. Forgetting all about ladylike manners, she smiled hugely and then leaned forward, exuberantly pressing her lips to his. A startled grunt escaped him, but he finally recovered and placed his arms gently around her, reaching up only to straighten his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Though they were opposites, seemingly two notes on totally different ends of the scale, somehow they made perfect harmony.

USUK

During lunch the next day, the Hero Club amused themselves by stealing glances at Roderich and Elizabeta, who sat together side by side, quietly eating lunch. They had never done so before.

"I guess that means we saved the day! Woohoo!" Alfred concluded. Arthur rolled his eyes, and helped himself to a few of Alfred's chips. Alfred playfully swatted at his hand. "Who said you could eat my fries? I need those—it's my serving of vegetables, ya know."

"Speaking of terrible food and poor health, Matthew tells me you wish to celebrate Thanksgiving at the end of this week," Francis said. Arthur's brows creased in thought.

"But Matthew, I thought Canadians celebrated Thanksgiving in October," Arthur said. Alfred froze mid-bite, his blue eyes wide with surprise. He looked at Matthew for verification. The soft-spoken boy blushed, absently tucking some of his wild curls behind his ear. Everyone was staring at him expectantly.

"W-well, we do…but you all were so busy planning the school trip, and then it was the Halloween dance…I don't mind celebrating it when Alfred does, truly," Matthew said. Francis sneered at Alfred.

"You didn't even ask him how _he_ celebrates, did you?" Francis confirmed. Alfred blushed a bit, looking sheepish.

"Sorry, Mattie. I didn't even think the dates might be different," Alfred admitted with a frown. Matthew flashed him a reassuring smile.

"Its okay, Alfred. As long as we all get to celebrate together, I'm happy," Matthew said forgivingly. Arthur sighed, and smacked Alfred playfully upside the back of his head a few seconds later.

"You're culturally insensitive," he declared. Alfred pouted.

"How was I supposed to know the Mayflower went to Canada a month before it sailed to America?" Alfred asked. Matthew blinked in an amused way a moment before giggling slightly at Alfred's cluelessness.

"I think he's a lost case, Arthur," Matthew said, still grinning.

"So I'm starting to realize…so when is this dinner of yours?" Arthur asked. Alfred bounced back cheerily.

"It's in the cooking classroom this Friday night, and I've already invited all our friends! It's gonna be great. All me and Mattie have to do now is find all the food we need," Alfred said.

"This should be interesting," Yao commented, curious about what a western Thanksgiving dinner would entail. Beside him, Ivan smiled.

"I will come hungry," the husky boy decided.

Sharing grins, Matthew and Alfred planned out when they could go do some grocery shopping together, and where they could store the groceries in the mean time.

USUK

"GAH! The water's on fire!" Alfred yelled. He was panicking as big plumes of black smoke billowed up around the large pot. Matthew's expression transformed comically into one of pure fear.

"How did you burn water?" he asked, bravely darting forward with a dish towel. The horrible smell of burning assaulted them and the smoke detector began beeping in warning. Matthew somehow managed to turn off the burner, and Alfred helped him to lift the huge pot to a cool spot.

"I don't think it was the water that caught on fire. What's all that gunk down there?" Alfred asked. Clearly, someone had used the stove in the cooking class room and not cleaned up properly. Some food debris had landed near the heat source and began burning as soon as Alfred started to boil the water. Matthew grinned as he stretched onto his tippy toes to turn off the smoke alarm.

"You're face was hilarious," Mattie teased. Alfred shared his grin and checked another burner before turning it on.

"Let's agree _not_ to mention that to Francis, alright?" Alfred pleaded. Matthew laughed and extended his pinky. Alfred hooked their smallest fingers together and smiled.

"Pinky swear. Though he'll probably know something is up what with the whole room smelling like smoke," Matthew said.

"Hey Mattie…can I talk to you about something personal?" Alfred hedged a few moments later, still staring at his pinky. Blinking a bit in surprise, because usually Alfred didn't ask permission before he spoke, Matthew nodded hesitantly.

"You can ask me anything, Alfie," he said seriously. After all, Alfred was his first true friend, and he wanted them to be able to talk about anything and everything. Alfred chewed a bit on his bottom lip, clearly trying to organize his words. He busied himself with returning the pot of water to the burner, adding some veggies, and checking on the pumpkin pie in the oven. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous.

"Well…you know how Arthur is," he finally began, as if that statement explained everything. Matthew smiled all the same.

"Arthur is a lot of things. I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, eh?" Matthew encouraged. Alfred nodded distractedly and stared very fixedly at the water in the pot.

"I guess…I'm just confused about something, but I don't want to ask him about it…because of how he is," Alfred said slowly. Matthew's eyes lit up at the prospect of romance. Was Alfred going to _finally _confess that his feelings for his roommate were not strictly platonic? He'd already told Matthew about how strange the kiss with Patty had felt, and how confused it had made him.

"What are you afraid to ask him?" Matthew prodded gently. Alfred scowled at him suddenly.

"I'm _not_ afraid to ask him. I didn't say that. I just…well…it's because of how he—" Matthew smiled gently and finished his friend's sentence.

"Because of how he is? You already said that part. Alfie, do you _like_ like him? Is that what this is about?" Matthew asked. It was a good thing Alfred hadn't been holding anything breakable, because he probably would have dropped it. Instead, he gaped at Matthew with a vibrant, guilty flush on his cheeks.

"No! It's not…no! I mean, Arthur's a nice guy—heck, he's one of my best friends! But he's just a friend. I don't think I'm gay. I mean, I can't judge that based on one bad kiss with Patty. I think I just need to kiss someone really hot. That's what I wanted to talk to Arthur about. I mean, not that Arthur's hot! I just wanted to ask him about…uhh…uhh…Emily—you know her, right?"

Matthew didn't like where the conversation was going, and he got the distinct impression Alfred was lying about what he wanted to ask of Arthur, but he nodded reluctantly in answer to his friend's question. He didn't think Emily fell in the category of spectacularly attractive, but then again, Alfred didn't know many girls that were willing to talk to him any more than necessary.

"Yeah, so I was thinking if Arthur asked her to, she might go out with me. But I don't want to ask him about it, because he gets really strange when I talk about girls, and he kinda dated Emily, ya know? I know it's dumb, but the whole kissing thing has really been bothering me for weeks now, and it's all I can think about," Alfred admitted, his voice a little desperate sounding. Matthew sighed.

Hopefully, Francis (and Arthur) would forgive him for what he was about to do.

"Alfred, close your eyes. I need to show you something," Matthew instructed. The warning timer on the oven went off, and Alfred glanced at it nervously before looking back at Matthew. The pot of water began to boil, the pressure building and bursting in the confines of the pot. Matthew noticed that Alfred was gripping the countertop with white knuckled fists, as if he knew what was coming, and in a strange, complicated way, had been asking for Matthew's help because he couldn't ask Arthur.

"You're gonna…"

"Yes," Matthew said simply. "Then you'll know if you're gay or not, and you won't have to make things awkward between you and Arthur. You _wanted_ to ask him to kiss you, didn't you?"

The guilty look on Alfred's face was the only answer Matthew needed. Alfred chewed on his lip a little more, but then resolutely closed his eyes.

"It's just a kiss. It doesn't mean anything," he said. In his own head, Matthew echoed the same mantra. Francis wouldn't care. Besides, he was _always_ flirting with other people, and Matthew was pretty sure it had gone further than flirting a time or two.

Despite his nerves, he had to make the kiss good. Alfred needed something he could really judge by. It couldn't just be a peck. Swallowing a bit nervously, and glancing at the door, Matthew approached his friend and gently rested his hands on Alfred's hips. The taller boy was holding his breath, eyes screwed shut tightly. Smiling a bit in amusement, despite the strangeness of the situation, Matthew stretched onto his toes and pressed a tiny kiss on the tip of Alfred's nose. The other boy's eyes opened in confusion, and his lips fell open. Before he could say anything, Matthew lowered his mouth and pressed it against Alred's, leaning flush against him and encouraging his friend to wrap his arms around him. He angled his head so they made a better fit, and darted his tongue against Alfred's unresponsive lips.

For a moment, the other boy was deadly still. Then a needy little sound escaped him and his grasp tightened, pulling Matthew hard against his skinny torso. Alfred's tongue met Matthew's and the kiss deepened, both boys electrified by the newness of it, and by the way it felt just a little bit forbidden.

The timer on the oven beeped loudly and insistently, but both boys ignored it. Alfred rotated his body so that he was pressing Matthew against the counter, his hands roving over the other boy's backside and his bony hips. Matthew's hands found Alfred's slender, yet strong arms, which unlike Francis's, were already beginning to show a hint of muscle definition, likely from all of the rugby practice.

And while Matthew was making comparisons between Alfred and Francis, it was obvious Alfred was making some comparisons of his own. His eyes closed once more, his hands pressed all over Matthew, his tongue desperately dominated their kiss, and one word slipped past his lips.

"Arthur…" he whispered. It was enough to finally break the spell. Matthew twisted out of his friend's grasp panting, his lips swollen and his clothing mused. Suddenly finding his arms empty, Alfred looked around confusedly for a moment, the haze of pleasure clearing slowly from his eyes, and realization dawning.

"You can't…don't _ever_ tell anyone. Please, Mattie, promise me. That didn't happen. _Nothing_ happened."

Suddenly feeling quite guilty, despite how innocent his motivation had been, Matthew nodded silently.

"It was just a kiss. Harmless. A-and it didn't even happen, so…yeah."

"Yeah. Shit. We burned the pie," Alfred said with an angry grimace as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if trying to remove the kiss that had provoked such a reaction from him.

Matthew had no further time to recover. The door to the classroom opened with a loud bang and Ivan entered, Yao on his heels, and Arthur and Francis not far behind. Only Francis's eyes narrowed perceptively at Matthew, and then calculatingly at Alfred, who more and more looked on the verge of tears. They hadn't fished preparing the meal, but Matthew was suddenly ready for it to be over. Be brought the turkey to the table with little fanfare, feeling tight and jumpy. Francis's eyes had never left him, and Matthew couldn't return his stare but for a nervous, pained glance.

A few more people came in—Emily and Patty, as well as Toris (sans Felix, which was a rare sight these days) and Elizabeta and Roderich, too. Arthur began to help Matthew bring things to the table, because Alfred stood frozen near the oven, his head turned down as if waiting for something to finish cooking.

"Alfred, help us get everything on the table," Arthur prodded. "This whole thing was your idea, after all. Are you carving the turkey?" Arthur asked.

"I've got to…go to the bathroom. I feel sick," Alfred blurted, before barreling past everyone before anyone could get a good look at him. He'd sounded bad though, as though his voice was thick with unshed tears.

Arthur stared after him gobsmacked, and then looked helplessly at Matthew.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Arthur asked worriedly. Matthew shook his head tightly, as if he didn't trust himself to speak, but finally settled on a response.

"It's nothing. We just had a…a stupid fight…and…and…" Francis seemed relieved by the explanation, as if he'd been suspecting what had really happened, but this lie made more sense. It didn't explain Matthew's swollen lips or rumpled clothes, but Francis didn't want to believe his suspicions. Matthew was just upset because he and his friend had fought, which had never happened before. He'd bit his lips, that was all. Maybe the fight had even gotten physical at one point, and that was why his clothes were in such disarray. Francis frowned at the tight feeling in his gut, and his eyes turned cold as Matthew hesitantly met his gaze once more, as if trying to gauge his reaction.

"I'm going after him," Arthur said, looking rather foolish with a baked casserole in his hands, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. The room was full of nervous tension, and nobody seemed to know how to respond. Francis cleared his throat.

"Sit down, Arthur. Clearly Alfred wants a few minutes to calm down and clear his head. I'm sure whatever…disagreement…he had with Matthew has upset him. Let us not talk of unpleasantness any further. We're here to eat, and be thankful, no?" Francis said, his voice tight and his tone laced with accusation. Beside him, Matthew flinched.

"W-well, I'll start, shall I?" Patty said, glancing awkwardly around. "I'm thankful for all the friends I've made this year, and…and…yeah," she said. Toris picked up where she left off. He glanced nervously at Ivan, and then swallowed thickly.

"I'm thankful for forgiveness, which I've seemed to need a lot of this year. I guess we're all kind of figuring it out though, a-and we can't be perfect our first year. S-so I'm glad and thankful that even if we make mistakes, it turns out okay in the end," he said. Matthew sniffled, and feeling totally out of sorts, Arthur finally brought the casserole to the table and sat beside Matthew, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm thankful we've got such great new members in the council this year, especially Yao and Arthur. You guys have really been great. I expect to see even more great stuff from you guys before the year is over," Emily said brightly, clearly trying to erase some of the weirdness.

"My turn, da? I'm thankful that, for once, business matters this year have brought much pleasure," Ivan said cryptically. Most at the table assumed he was talking about dishing out punishment to other students, but Yao seemed to think it was a sweet comment. He smiled at the tall Russian in a way that was both secretive and flirtatious.

"I am thankful for that, too," Yao added. Arthur was still staring at the door, clearly expecting Alfred to return and growing more restless with each second that he failed to do so. Noticing what he was doing, and seemingly irritated by it, Francis snapped out his contribution.

"_I_ am thankful the school was not burned down during the preparation of this dinner," he cast a critical eye over the dishes, his lips curling in distaste, "Of course, the building seems to be the only thing that escaped burning." Beside him, Matthew stiffened and his upset seemed to turn into anger.

"If the food isn't g-g-good enough for you, you can _leave_," Matthew replied quietly. The tension was back full force, as Matthew continued, "But that's just like you, to have something, and take it for granted, isn't it?" Matthew nearly whispered. Emily and Patty exchanged nervous looks. Arthur just looked confused. This was the first time Elizabeta and Roderich had really hung out with the group, and it seemed like they were both trying to figure out ways to politely excuse themselves early.

"Err…I'm thankful the fact that we don't celebrate this holiday where I'm from," Arthur finally grumbled, seeming to give up on pretending the dinner wasn't going horribly. A few people laughed, and Elizabeta spoke up.

"Unless Matthew has any objections, how about we just eat before it gets cold?" she suggested. Nobody really protested, and Ivan happily began piling food on his plate. A few things didn't look too bad, but most of it _did_ look a little too crispy or runny. Matthew was a fairly decent cook, but Alfred proved to be a bit of a danger in the kitchen, both to himself and to the food.

Matthew finally cracked when Arthur served him a slice of slightly burned pumpkin pie after the too-dry turkey had been consumed. Matthew stared at the dark orange slice of pie on his plate for a long moment, a faraway look in his eyes, and then stood and politely excused himself.

"I take it this is not a normal Thanksgiving?" Toris asked with a nervous little smile, after Matthew had left. Being the only person left at the table that routinely celebrated the holiday, Patty just shrugged casually.

"Actually, it's pretty typical. Everyone fights, and the family hasn't gotten together in months, so conversation is awkward. One relative always has to make some sort of snide comment, feelings get hurt, the turkey is carved, and then the football game comes on and everyone's distracted from their failed familial relations by the television and eating too much," Patty said succinctly.

"Wow," Emily replied. Then, with a grin she added, "Well, it was _really_ authentic then. That's brilliant."

Disgusted with the company he barely knew, the old friend who was _completely_ oblivious, and with his cheating boyfriend, Francis finally tossed his napkin down dramatically and left, without a word to anyone.

Without missing a beat, Patty commented, "Looks like someone's about to go find the nearest television."

Feeling as though he had to stay till the end now, on Alfred's behalf, Arthur shifted anxiously in his seat and glared sullenly in the hopes that everyone still lingering would eat their desserts faster and just _leave _already. _'Happy Thanksgiving my royal arse!'_ Arthur thought with a deep scowl.

**A/N: **I wrote an outline for the first arc of this story that is nearly two pages long. So far, in the past two chapters, I've covered roughly two sentences of the outline. -_-;

To the British reader that was so kind as to explain the English terminology for school stuff, thank you so much! Also, a second British reader asked what a pep rally was. It's an American tradition designed to get all the students excited about a school event, usually of the sports variety. Another reviewer pointed out that Canadians don't celebrate Thanksgiving when Americans do. My bad, lol. I blame Alfred's cultural insensitivity, and not my own. :P I seriously had no clue our Canadian friends celebrated earlier. Sorry I forgot your holiday, Canada! *sheepish*

Oh, and this is random, but I started a blog and posted all my favorite USUK songs. If you wanna check it out, you can see it here: h t t p : / / demand-truth . tumblr .com / (without spaces, obviously)


	14. The Kiss that Changed Everything

Chapter 14

The week after Thanksgiving passed in a blur for the students of World Academy. Alfred, especially, seemed to be caught up in his own little world of torment. During a phone call with his mother, he learned she would be visiting him in England for the winter break, so she would have a chance to speak to his professors and meet his friends. The last thing Alfred wanted her to hear about was failing grades and ruined friendships, so he threw himself into studying for the upcoming exams with enthusiasm that Arthur had never seen before.

Arthur had tried to talk to him about the strange Thanksgiving dinner, but Alfred was remaining frustratingly silent and dismissive about it.

"I just had a stomach bug, that's all," he said. "Must have been from my bad cooking. Hey, Arthur, how do I do this problem here?" Alfred asked, flipping his worksheet over to show Arthur where he was stuck. Arthur frowned.

"But Matthew said you fought. He's been fighting with Francis, too. _Something_ has happened, and I'd very much like to know—" Alfred cut him off.

"Oh! I square that, huh? Yeah, that's the step I was missing. Nevermind." And he ducked his blond head back over his textbook and pretended he had selective hearing.

"Well, if you can't hear me when I talk about that, perhaps you'll be able to hear this. My parents have said I can invite a friend to the house for the break…" Arthur said suggestively. Alfred, however, didn't respond.

"Can we sort out stuff about the break after I've passed these exams? You don't understand, Arthur. If my mom gets here and finds out I failed them, she's gonna embarrass me _so_ bad."

Arthur huffed in annoyance, but he couldn't be _too_ upset with his roommate. After all, Alfred's parents had to be terrors if they'd crippled their son's confidence so badly. It was natural that Alfred was consumed with anxiety.

"Fine. Do you need help with your essay?" he asked. Alfred nodded desperately.

"Here, I already typed it, but I'm about 500 words short," he said, rummaging in his bag and then tossing a flash drive to Arthur. It was in this way that the topic of Thanksgiving, and the fight between Matthew and Alfred, was entirely avoided. With his own exams to prepare for, not to mention his growing responsibilities in the student council (they were planning a holiday ball), Arthur was a bit distracted, too.

USUK

"Let me speak more slowly, so that my accent doesn't confuse you. I do not care about the stupid school dance. I do not care about the holidays. I _especially_ do not care about anything having to do with either Matthew or Alfred. Try conversing with me again and let us see if you can keep those points in mind," Francis said scathingly. Arthur blinked a bit in surprise. He'd found Francis in the library, after the taller boy had skipped yet another student council meeting, and all his attempts to get some sort of reaction from the other boy had been met with failure.

"Alright, frog-face, something is wrong with you. You've been like this ever since Matthew and Alfred fought at Thanksgiving. What the hell is going on with everyone?" Arthur demanded.

"That attempt didn't contain mention of the dance, so you're improving, but you still spoke of Alfred, Matthew, and the holidays. Try again," Francis retorted. He turned a page so harshly in his French history text that the paper nearly ripped. Arthur scowled.

"So now you're not talking about it either. Brilliant. Alright, well, we can just here in silence then. I dislike talking to you anyway," Arthur said, dropping his book bag heavily on the table. Instead of beginning to work, he stared at Francis with an impressive eyebrow raised. Francis finally started to look a bit guilty, and his expression of annoyance morphed into one of sadness.

"Things are a bit strained with Matthew at the moment. I do not know if we will still be a couple after the holidays are over," Francis admitted softly. Arthur was surprised, but terrible at offering comfort and didn't know what he was supposed to say. Thankfully, Francis continued speaking without seeming to need any input from Arthur.

"What's worse, I've spent all year chasing after him and dating him, and now I do not have any other friends to hang out with—only girls that just want one thing from me. I do not want to go home for the holidays, and I can no longer bear to spend them with Matthew at the school, like we planned."

Arthur had never seen his old friend look so heartbroken and lonely. He was nearly one hundred percent confident that Francis's troubles with Matthew had been his own fault, but something softened in him at the other boy's confession. Arthur considered the situation. Alfred's mother would be in town for the holidays, or at least for the start of them, so he likely wouldn't be able to visit him anyway.

"Francis…I can't believe I'm saying this…but you're welcome to come to my house for the holidays if you want. You know my mum would love to have you," he offered. Francis looked up at him in surprise.

"You would really do that for me?" he asked. Arthur crossed his arms, trying to appear prickly and sullen.

"It's not like it's a big deal or anything," he said. But it _was_ a big deal, and Francis knew that as well as Arthur did. Somehow, over the course of the year, the two of them had rekindled their childhood friendship, and overcome the jealousy and misunderstandings that had turned them into rivals.

"I gratefully accept your invitation," Francis said with the first smile he'd shown in days. Arthur gave him a small grin in return.

"But we're not spending all the hols in overpriced stores," Arthur added quickly. Francis sneered at the implication that he shopped too much.

"Fine. As long as _you_ do not insist upon sitting by the fire every evening doing your needlework," Francis goaded.

"_Fine_," Arthur snapped in response, the two of them staring frostily at each other for a few moments before they both realized how silly they sounded. They shared a hesitant laugh.

"This will most certainly be an interesting holiday," Francis said. Arthur felt a pang of regret that he would not be spending it with Alfred, but he nodded. Francis needed a friend, and god-knows nobody else would want to do it. He was stuck with the burden. Hopefully, Alfred would understand.

USUK

Matthew finally caught up with Alfred after a shared class, just two days before exams, the holiday ball, and the start of the winter holidays. He'd actually had to grab Alfred's sleeve, such was his haste to flee the classroom.

"Alfred, wait! _Please_!" Matthew begged, already feeling the threat of tears. Behind them, Gilbert snickered and made sure everyone noticed them in such an awkward scene. Alfred blushed, but could not ignore Matthew when he sounded so pitiful.

"Come on. If we're gonna talk about our feelings and cry like little girls, let's at least go somewhere private. We can go talk in the courtyard," Alfred said. Matthew nodded gratefully, sheepishly releasing Alfred's arm.

The two of them walked in silence to the frozen courtyard, which was beautiful under a thick layer of soft snow. The two friends sat on a bench after Alfred wiped the snow off with a gloved hand.

"Are you mad at me?" Matthew asked. He looked like an emotional wreck, and Alfred felt consumed with guilt. He'd been avoiding his friend out of embarrassment, without considering Matthew's feelings. He'd heard Matthew and Francis were fighting, possibly on the verge of breaking up, and he felt responsible for that, too.

"No, it's not…that's not it at all, Mattie. I'm just…I'm just so confused, and now my mom's coming _now_, of all times, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to flunk out of school so none of it even matters anyway," Alfred said in a rush.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Matthew confessed quietly. Alfred let out a pathetic bark of laughter, as if he was starting to lose his mind.

"_Tell_ me about it. My dreams have been _so_ messed up this week. Damn it, Mattie, I don't _want _to feel like this. I'm so…urgh! I'm just so fucking mad at myself for _asking_ for all this! I was so freaking dumb! I thought a simple kiss would fix everything, and I could go back to before, when I didn't care or even think about this crap…and now…"

Matthew knew it was probably only making an awkward situation worse, but he couldn't help it. He flung himself sideways, his arms wrapping around Alfred's shoulders, and buried his cold face in the other boy's neck.

Much to his surprise, it was only a second before Alfred wrapped him up in his arms, clinging to him almost just as tightly.

"Do I have to be gay? Because of how the kiss made me feel? Can't I…can't I be something else?" Alfred asked him brokenly. Matthew sniffled, tears pouring out of his eyes, and hugged his friend even tighter.

"You can be whatever you want to be, Alfred. Everyone told me I was gay before I even had a chance to figure it out for myself, and I've _always_ resented that. It was just kissing. Who's to say there's not a girl out there that would make you feel the same way?" Matthew asked, finally releasing Alfred's shoulders. The other boy looked pathetically grateful for his words. He rubbed at some of his own tears, and nodded.

"Thanks, Mattie. I really needed to hear that," Alfred said. Matthew smiled sadly. He hadn't said what Alfred needed to hear at all, but sometimes forcing an unwanted truth on someone was just as hurtful and damaging as a lie. Alfred would have to come to terms with his sexuality on his own, and Matthew wasn't about to hurt Alfred's fragile self-confidence with a label that was sometimes too hard for even him to bear, and he'd had years worth of practice.

"So…your mom is coming, eh?" Mattie asked, rubbing at his cheeks. Alfred winced at the reminder and burrowed the toe of his boot into the snow.

"Yeah. She'll be here tomorrow. She's only staying for a week of the holiday, though. I'll be on my own for Christmas this year," Alfred said. Matthew didn't really think about it as he leaned against his friend's side, seeking the warmth of his jacket.

"I'll be on my own, too. What with paying tuition, it's too expensive for my parents to fly me home. Francis was going to stay here with me, but now…"

Alfred wrapped an arm around his friend's slender shoulders and squeezed comfortingly.

"Now you'll have me to hang out with all break! It'll be great! We'll…we'll build snow forts, and have snowball fights, and we can do crazy stuff inside the empty school—like rollerblade down the hallways!"

Matthew laughed despite himself. "You're such a big kid, Alfie," he said fondly. Alfred smiled and looked up at the sky, filling once more with flurries of snow.

"Hey, you wanna go into town and do some Christmas shopping? I haven't bought anything yet. I really need to study, but if I look at one more text book I'm gonna puke."

"Ha, alright. Shopping sounds fun," Matthew replied. He was surprised when Alfred removed his arm from around his shoulders and extended his pinky, puffier than usual because of his glove.

"I want to make a new pinky swear. Promise me we'll always be friends, no matter what," Alfred requested. Matthew smiled, feeling warm despite the cold, and linked their pinkies together.

"That's a promise!" he replied. From inside the warmth of the cafeteria, Francis watched them with bitter blue eyes before stalking off, his heart breaking into what felt like a million pieces.

'_So he wants Alfred, after all. Well, two can play at that game, mon cher_,_' _Francis thought to himself darkly. He might not be willing to challenge Alfred to a fight, but his mind flashed to Arthur and he knew there was more than one way to hurt someone. As for Matthew, Francis had the perfect revenge already in mind.

USUK

Alfred had dragged Matthew over the entire department store, and if Matthew hadn't built up his shopping tolerance so high by dating Francis, he would have surely passed out around the third floor.

"I want it to be perfect, ya know?" Alfred said, looking ridiculous as he held a big stuffed unicorn under one arm that he'd found in the little girl's toy section.

"I have a hard time picturing Arthur wanting that pink monstrosity," Mattie said doubtfully. Alfred held up the unicorn that was nearly as big as his torso and considered her critically.

"Naw, he acts all mature, but Arthur _loves_ all this kiddy fantasy stuff. He'd probably spaz out if he saw this in a store, but he wouldn't let himself buy it."

Matthew giggled, lacing his hands behind his back. "Well, that sounds like the definition of a good Christmas present to me, then. Besides, your only other idea is books, and I'm pretty sure everyone gets him books."

"Very true. Okay, Pinky, you've found a new home!" Alfred said brightly, giving the ridiculously huge unicorn a big squeeze. The unicorn made a neighing noise and a gay sounding little song played as its sound box was compressed. Matthew snickered again, and then took a moment to admire all the beautiful holiday decorations in the store. As he was looking around, his eyes landed on another couple shopping, two men, playfully smiling at each other and holding hands as they examined the store's wares. Matthew swallowed thickly, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. Over the store's sound system, a sappy Christmas song began to play and Mattie felt his eyes tear up. Finally noticing Matthew was getting depressed again, Alfred did the first thing he could think of to break Mattie out of his sadness.

"ONWARD, PINKY! WE RIDE TO FIGHT MORGADU! SHOW NO FEAR, AND NO MERCY!" Alfred bellowed. Pinky neighed and the song played again. Matthew's eyes widened in embarrassment, as he turned to see Alfred taking off down the aisle. He was pretending to ride the unicorn, his arm pumping valiantly in the air with a plastic battle axe. A little boy in the toy section was frightened away from the Transformers, and ran for his mother nearby.

Matthew couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

"Alfred, you weirdo! Everyone's staring!" Matthew said, though he really didn't seem to mind. Grinning infectiously, Alfred "galloped" back to Matthew and tossed his hair in a silly fashion.

"Ah, good Sir, might I trouble you for directions to—"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to dismount from the unicorn," a store employee said crossly, appearing as if he had radar for troublemaking teenagers. Matthew tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn't help it. His laughter only grew louder and he doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"I'm buying it! I swear! Well, not the battle axe. Here. You can…err…take that back. I just, ya know, always…mount my unicorns before I buy them," At that point, even Alfred lost the battle to keep a straight face, and he cracked up at the look on the employee's face.

"Oh god, come _on_, Alfred. Let's go buy the thing before they kick us out of here," Matthew said. The store employee huffed and went power-walking off in the opposite direction, after snatching the toy axe, of course. Alfred lowered his voice to a stage whisper, and with a mischievous look, "mounted" the unicorn again.

"This time, Pinky, Morgadu has triumphed, but we shall recapture our glorious axe and we shall claim victory!" Apparently, Alfred squeezed a new part of the unicorn with his thighs, because Pinky replied.

"You and I will be best friends forever!"

Pretending to be choked up, and sending Matthew into peals of laughter all over again, Alfred squeezed the unicorn in a massive bear hug, wiping at fake tears.

"Yes, Pinky, yes we shall! Forever and ever and ever!" Alfred caught Matthew's eyes and smiled, as if trying to tell him, _'See? You haven't forgotten how to laugh. Everything will be okay.' _

Matthew appreciated the reminder more than he could say.

USUK

Despite all the craziness, Alfred still insisted that the Hero Club meet one last time before the holidays. Matthew was surprised and a little hurt that Francis showed up, too, acting as if nothing was wrong but ignoring him quite pointedly.

"So what are you doing for the holidays, Ivan?" Alfred asked. They were meeting in the gym again, and Alfred had found a basketball somewhere. He dribbled it now, occasionally passing it to Ivan for him to shoot. The tall boy played remarkably well, sinking nearly every shot he made.

"I am travelling with Yao to conclude the business matter between our fathers," he said. Next to Francis, Yao smiled serenely. Francis wanted to make a snide, jaded comment about their _obvious_ new relationship, and how it was impossible for it to succeed, but he held his tongue just barely.

"China, huh? That's super cool! Man, Mattie, our holiday is starting to sound kinda lame," Alfred joked. "But hey! We can go visit Arthur, right?" Alfred said, smiling expectantly at his friend. Arthur glanced at Francis and shifted awkwardly.

"I'm afraid not. I've invited Francis. My parents like to keep the holidays small, you see, and he's really like family, almost," Arthur said. He felt a little guilty. He hadn't managed to mention the change of plans to Alfred yet, and the other boy looked a little hurt to only be finding out now.

"Oh…well…yeah, that makes sense. Plus with my mom coming and all…" Alfred trailed off. Arthur nodded.

"Right. Yeah, I mean, I didn't know, but I just assumed you'd be making plans with her," he said.

"Totally. Plus, Mattie will keep me company, right Mattie?" Alfred asked brightly, obviously injecting false cheer into his voice. Matthew glanced at Francis and frowned, hugging himself a bit pathetically.

"Sure, Alfred," he answered quietly. Francis sneered.

Thankfully, before the tension snapped, the doors to the gym opened. Berwald entered in his work-out clothes, and headed straight for Alfred.

"Hey, Captain! What's up? Come to shoot some hoops with us?" Alfred asked. The tall boy frowned, and put his gym bag down nearby.

"Yo'r club helps play m'tchm'ker, r'ght?" Francis snorted bitterly.

"_Oui_. We are all about the love here," Francis jibed.

"We help with manly stuff, too!" Alfred protested, perhaps because Berwald was one of his rugby mates. "You know…lifting things, fixing stuff," he added vaguely, trying not to sound like a loser and failing rather spectacularly. Arthur grinned at the way Alfred puffed up his skinny chest around Berwald, who literally towered over him. Berwald just stared at Alfred blankly.

"But yeah, mostly we matchmake," Alfred finally admitted, seeming to deflate like a sad little balloon. Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled.

"I need you to t'ke what's in th't bag, and tie it up, all o'er the school," he ordered, as if giving Alfred coaching on the field. Accustomed to that role, Alfred nodded with determination.

"Sure thing, Captain!"

"Hold on a second. We have no idea what's in that bag. It could be blown up condoms for all we know," Arthur said. Yao nodded, and Alfred blushed.

"Hey! Berwald isn't perverted like that! I'm sure whatever he needs help with is really important! It's probably motivational posters for the team, or fliers about try-outs, or—"

"It's mistletoe," Berwald said, with a perfectly straight face.

"Or it's something super sappy, like mistletoe," Alfred blurted out, not realizing what he had said. His eyes widened in alarm, and he glanced up at Berwald almost fearfully. The big rugby player merely arched a thin, blond brow, clearly accustomed to Alfred's antics.

"Ivan got to pass on the last one, so I'm passing on this," Francis said. Alfred, however, wasn't letting that happen.

"Nu-uh, Francis! Berwald really needs our help, and we're all gonna pitch in. In fact, this would be a really good time for you and Mattie to talk a bit," Alfred insisted. Arthur winced, Matthew looked horrified, and Francis scowled. Before anything else could be said, Alfred had removed a big armful of mistletoe from the bag, and pushed it into Francis's resisting arms.

"No arguing, you two. Presidential order!"

"Alfred, I really don't think…" Arthur started to protest, but Francis merely relaxed, his expression returning to one of neutrality.

"Well, we certainly can't ignore a presidential order. Come along, _mon cher_," he said rather bitingly. Matthew cast a betrayed look at Alfred before nervously following Francis out of the gym. Berwald seemed nonplussed by the whole spectacle.

"So, Captain, who's the lucky girl?" Alfred asked, as he distributed some mistletoe to Yao and Ivan, who thankfully had heard of the tradition in their classes that year and didn't question why they were being given greenery.

"My future w'fe," the rugby Captain said simply. Arthur was a little impressed. Berwald spoke with absolute conviction, as if there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he and this girl, whoever she might be, were soul mates. It was a surprisingly romantic gesture from such a typically stoic guy. Arthur considered the innocent little plant in his hand. His eyes trailed upwards to Alfred, who was now busy assuring his team leader that he would take care of the job, and they'd put mistletoe in all the romantic spots, no matter what.

Maybe he needed a little of Berwald's confidence? What if he just boldly said, _'Alfred, I think I might fancy you,'_ Could his reaction really be so bad? Matthew had practically told him the same thing, and it hadn't ended _their _friendship. The mistletoe suddenly felt heavy in his hand.

'_It's just not that simple, and it's not that easy,'_ Arthur thought. _'Besides, why rush it? We'll have three and half more years together. I don't have to make my move right this very second.'_ Arthur consoled himself, mostly so he would feel less like a coward.

While he'd been so lost in thought, he hadn't realized everyone leaving the gym with the exception of himself and Arthur, who held the rest of the mistletoe in the gym bag over his shoulder.

"That just leaves you and me—Team A! Woohoo! Let's hang some mistletoe!" Alfred said exuberantly, practically racing out of the gym. Arthur chuckled at him and followed after, knowing he'd definitely have to help Alfred out with this one.

Sure enough, Alfred led them to the science classroom.

"Let's hang one here! You know, because the people who kiss will have good _chemistry_." Alfred waggled his eyebrows, clearly pleased with his pun. Arthur snorted, and snatched away the mistletoe.

"You're ridiculous. It smells like preserved frogs in here. This is most _definitely_ not a good spot for a first kiss," Arthur explained. Alfred took a hesitant whiff of the air.

"Really? I always thought this classroom smelled a bit like my gym locker," he said.

"That's because your jock strap smells like rotting amphibians," Arthur teased. Alfred, in a rare moment of wit, however, quickly turned the tables.

"Why are you sniffing my jock strap?" he asked, clearly delighted with the comeback. Arthur had to laugh (and blush a little, too).

"I most certainly do _not_ sniff your underthings." Alfred cackled as he tied a clump of mistletoe to the doorway of the science lab anyway.

"Ha! Only you would call a jock strap 'underthings.' You're such a dork!" Alfred teased. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from _you_. You probably wank to fantasies about Spock and Wonder Woman." Alfred grinned, and stuck out his tongue.

"That was _one_ time. Geez, you're never going to let me live that down."

"You were the idiot that told me what sort of weird dreams you have," Arthur replied. The two of them left the science classroom and headed towards the art room, bickering playfully the entire way.

"Okay, what about here? Art is romantic, right? All those naked statues and chicks takin' their clothes off…man…why didn't I sign up for art again?" Alfred teased. Arthur shoved past him and entered the classroom.

"Because you're afraid to pursue your _true_ talents?" Arthur asked with mock innocence. Alfred scowled.

"Arthur," he said in a warning tone of voice. The British boy had questioned Alfred and his complicated relationship with his judgmental parents one-too-many times. Any hint of it now, and Alfred immediately went on the defensive.

"Fine, fine, I'm shutting up about it," Arthur replied airily. "All the same, I don't think this is a particularly romantic spot either. There's not anything really special about it," he said. Alfred shrugged.

"Oh well. I'm sure Francis and Matthew will go to all the good spots anyway. I really hope they work things out before the holidays come," Alfred said. Arthur fell silent. Francis hadn't told him the main reason for their fighting, but he'd hinted that it was bad, and not something that could easily be forgotten. Surprisingly, it seemed it was Matthew who had done something.

"I don't know, Alfred. Francis is very hurt by whatever happened. I've never seen him so…so…well, I guess heartbroken is the only word for it." Luckily, Arthur missed Alfred's guilty look.

"It's just a dumb misunderstanding. They just need to talk it out," Alfred insisted. Arthur just shrugged, watching his taller roommate secure the mistletoe to the ceiling over a random desk.

"Enough with the classrooms. Let's put it somewhere Berwald might actually spot it," Arthur said, suddenly wanting to change the subject. At first, he'd almost desperately wanted to know what happened between Matthew and Francis, but now he wasn't so sure he did. He didn't know what had changed his mind, but he thought it had something to do with the accusing looks Francis sometimes shot at Alfred. He just no longer wanted to know.

"Alright, Mr. Romance, where do you suggest?" Alfred asked, smiling down at him. Arthur found himself staring almost longingly at Alfred's soft, thin lips. "Arthur? Earth to Arthur?" Alfred asked. Blinking rapidly, Arthur blushed a bit, wondering if Alfred had noticed. Probably not.

"I've always thought the library is a romantic sort of place, what with all those beautiful love stories, and the way—hey! Don't laugh!" But it was too late. Alfred was already chuckling like a loon, a joke ready on the tip of his tongue.

"How can you make fun of me for Spock and Wonder Woman when you hold your sausage hostage for Shakespeare?"

"_Excuse me_?" Arthur retorted, his whole face flushing. "I cannot _believe_ you just used that phrase. Never say that in my presence ever again. My...my…s-sausage? Good grief, Alfred!"

"Ha! I totally won't have to. Now it's the only thing you'll be able to think of whenever you see Ludwig in student council meetings," Alfred teased. Arthur screwed his eyes shut, as if trying to undo the mental damage, but realized it was impossible.

"Have I cursed you yet today?" he asked instead. Alfred just laughed louder.

"Only twice since breakfast. You're either losing your touch or you think I'm funny," Alfred said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I must be losing my touch then. Come on, you idiot. We're going to the library."

USUK

Ivan eyed the tall archway in the music room with doubt. He was tall, but he wasn't _that_ tall.

"It has to be here, _milaya moyna_?" Ivan asked. Yao blushed at the soft Russian words, which anyone else wouldn't believe Ivan even capable of saying.

"Yes. In the center, please. The mistletoe will go nicely with the other decorations in the room," Yao commented, with a designer's eye. Ivan looked around a bit helplessly for a few moments, before noticing the piano bench. With disturbing strength, he hefted the bulky piece of furniture into his arms and carried it to the archway, letting it fall to the ground none-too-gently. Yao bit his lip a bit at the show of strength.

Once up on the bench, Ivan easily secured the mistletoe in the center, as requested, and then stepped down. He returned the heavy piano bench just as effortlessly as he'd fetched it.

"I find most western traditions very stupid, but this one…this one, I like," Ivan said, eyeing Yao hungrily as he returned to him, forcing him to retreat until he stood beneath the suggestive plant. The Chinese boy felt nervous and excited all at the same time, as he always did when Ivan gave him _that_ look. They'd been playing this game for weeks now, negotiating with each other on behalf of their fathers, and finding themselves in some compromising positions in between negotiations.

Ivan's hand landed possessively on Yao's hip, trailing up his side, his violet eyes lit with desire.

"I want _you_ for Christmas. Can I unwrap you now?" Ivan asked huskily, his fingers easily circling around Yao's delicate hip and pulling him in close. Ivan loved how petite Yao was, from his small hands that were so unlike his own, to his slender arms and graceful neck. Though he had never done so intentionally (which was a new thing for him) Ivan sometimes bruised Yao's porcelain skin just by touching him, or embracing him too firmly. Yao didn't seem to mind his roughness, and understood that Ivan was as gentle as he could possibly be with him, and that somehow, he had become the exception.

Even Toris, Ivan's soft-spoken ex, had approached him in the hallway and expressed some worry for his safety. Perhaps a little haughtily, Yao had informed him that Ivan was nothing but respectful, and had never hurt him. Toris had seemed relieved for him, and even said something about being happy that Ivan had finally found someone that could handle him.

And it was true. Yao might have been petite, and even initially a little frightened of Ivan, but familiarity bred confidence. Now Yao treated him like he would anyone else—that is to say, he bossed him around in his crisp, straight-forward way and expected compliance. When Ivan gave him attitude, or tried to intimidate him, Yao glared right back, and reminded him that he didn't _need_ him, and could do just fine on his own if Ivan continued to behave poorly.

Truthfully, Yao wasn't sure what the big fuss was about. He'd quickly discovered that Ivan was a fairly large pushover when it came to small, bossy, high-strung types. He'd caught a glimpse of Ivan being bullied by his sisters back home in a video chat, and it all clicked into place. His fear and mistrust of Ivan lessened more and more every day, and he came to see Ivan for what he was—frequently misunderstood, dangerous, but tame and soft as a kitten under the right circumstances.

Ivan finally claimed his lips, demanding entry in his forceful, dominating way. Yao nipped his lip in warning and Ivan cooled the kiss, loosening his hold on Yao to a more tolerable grip. In reward, Yao clung gently to the front of the bigger boy's scarf, tangling his small hands against his chest, knowing it was a sensation that Ivan adored. When the kiss ended, Yao favored Ivan with an approving smile.

"I am glad you will come to meet my family this holiday. My father, especially, is very happy about meeting you," Yao said. Ivan grinned, and Yao could see him for a moment as others did—frightening in a brutal, terrible way.

"I will protect you and your family with my blood. I will keep you in my sight always, and no one will _dare_ touch what is mine," Ivan promised. Though protection from the Russian mafia was what their fathers had negotiated, Yao felt it ran much deeper for Ivan. It was personal between them, now. Though none of his father's enemies lurked in the hallways of the school, Yao felt that even if they did, as long as Ivan was with him, he'd have nothing to fear.

USUK

**A/N: **So there ya go, some IvanxYao lovin' for ya. I'm really looking forward to writing some about their visit to China, and the adventures they have there. Side note, what Ivan says is supposed to translate to "my sweet." I hope I've done a good job explaining why Yao is different to Ivan, because for once he is protecting someone instead of wishing them harm.

**Axxi** offered to help me out with any British stuff I have questions about – huge thanks for that, as the next few chapters will have some heavy focus on Arthur, I will likely need your help! **InsertWittyNameHere** seemed a little concerned about the inclusion of the OCs in the Thanksgiving dinner. I really didn't want to use them, but I wanted it to be a fairly large group and I haven't been as good about working nations into the story as I should have. Patty is probably still going to be mentioned from time to time, but Emily will be graduating (and leaving a vacancy for the presidency next year *hint hint :P*) **Helena** – loved your review! Thank you so much for the suggestion. I definitely see your point. I think I tend to focus on developing Alfred because I'm more comfortable writing him, and poor Arthur tends to get a little neglected. However, I do have a very Aurthur-centric development part coming up over the holidays. You'll definitely see a more emotional side, and you'll see him let down his walls some. Lol, and I'm sorry Alfred is such a cry-baby! He _will_ man up, but right now it kinda goes with his awkward loser persona. Just wait till summer…* evil laughter *

As always, thank you a ton for any and all reviews. These past two chapters were hard to finish, but I think I'm over my slump now. I literally only kept typing because of your encouragement, so it is much appreciated. However, I'm _very_ excited to write the next parts! (That means there's lots of drama, lol.)


	15. A Christmas Proposal

Chapter 15

"I wish you'd just let me explain," Matthew said, finally breaking the tension filled silence. Francis scowled, and picked up his pace. He was leading them to the courtyard, which was a popular make-out spot for students. It had once been a favorite spot of theirs, too, but now whenever Francis passed it, all he could think of was Alfred cuddling Matthew on the bench in the softly falling snow.

"Did you kiss him?" Francis asked, his voice cold and flat.

"Y-yes, but—"

"And you have a _thing_ for him, no?" Francis interrupted. He could feel Matthew blushing, and did not need to turn around to see it.

"We're just close friends! That's _all_. I think he's cute and funny, but that doesn't mean I—"

"So you like him, and you kissed him, and then you lied about it. I told you that if you were really sincere about wanting to be with me, you would leave him alone. Have you done that?" Francis asked, already knowing the answer. Matthew's footsteps stopped, and Francis finally slowed and turned. Matthew stood dead center in the hall, fists balled up angrily at his sides. Tears had pooled in his eyes and clung to his long lashes. So many people were ugly when upset or crying, but not Matthew. Francis positively ached for him.

"You've cheated on me, too!" Matthew finally accused. For a long moment, Francis simply stared at him. Matthew was breathing hard, as if it had taken everything he had to make such a simple accusation. Francis almost pitied him—how difficult it was for Matthew to stand up to the people he loved. Francis knew his boyfriend had been suspicious of him since practically the start of their relationship, but he had never voiced those suspicions. It was almost as if he would let Francis do whatever he pleased, thinking himself not worthy of loyalty. The more Francis started to care for him, the more he'd tried to tone down his own flamboyant personality, but now the delicate balancing act had shattered.

"I have _never_ cheated on you. I have been flirtatious, but that is merely how I am. It means nothing, and it leads nowhere. Your own insecurities cause you to doubt me _constantly_. How do you think that makes me feel? I have tried to change for you, but it is still not good enough."

"My kiss with Alfred meant nothing, too! He's gay, but he doesn't know it yet, and he's trying to figure it out and he didn't want to ask Arthur and—"

"Stop. Just stop, Matthew. Until you realize why I am so upset, we are just talking in circles."

"Then _tell_ me! I'll do anything to fix it, don't you understand that?" Matthew begged. Francis considered him for a long moment before his eyes turned to the pile of mistletoe on the ground.

"It is a poisonous plant—mistletoe—and a parasitic one, too. It is funny how something that seems so sweet can have such an ugly nature, no?"

"Francis, you're being cruel," Matthew replied quietly. Francis just smiled coldly.

"Is it not deserved?" Francis retorted. Matthew just shrugged helplessly.

"So what now? Are we broken up? Are we just going to keep ripping at each other until we can't even stand to look at one another?" Matthew asked. Francis closed the distance between them and considered Matthew's tears a moment before he gently wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs.

"I will tell you my decision at the ball," Francis said simply. Without a kiss, or without any words to give Matthew hope, he turned and left quietly. Matthew held it together until he was gone, and then he sat down beside the sad little pile of mistletoe and cried.

USUK

The school library really was a beautiful place. It was not modernized, as so many school libraries were, and the shelves were all accented with pretty woodwork. All the tomes were leather-bound and hardback, their titles and authors written in spindly gold lettering on the spines. There were a few tables scattered about here and there—massive wooden structures with clawed feet, and dulled cherry wood faces. Like in the music room, the windows were multi-storied and beautifully arched. In between the big, floor to ceiling windows were smaller round ones, filled with stained glass.

Of course, the soaring ceiling meant there was no convenient place to hang the mistletoe.

"We could put it above a shelf, I guess," Alfred mused. Arthur frowned in disappointment.

"That will look strange. It needs to hang right there, in front of the window," Arthur said. The window he pointed to was a scenic spot. It overlooked the school grounds, including the portion of land that was home to the towering Norway Spruce tree that the students decorated with lights and huge ornaments each year. Even now, the soft white lights twinkled through the snow, and the shiny red and green baubles sparkled in the growing darkness. For a long moment, Alfred and Arthur merely stood side by side at the window, appreciating the view. Arthur's eyes lit up as he saw a beautiful deer peek out of the tree line. She took a few hesitant steps towards the Christmas tree. The lower branches had been stuffed with seed balls and Christmas-themed animal feeders to help the woodland creatures survive the winter. The tree had attracted beautiful little Redwings and wide-eyed owls all month.

Arthur clenched the mistletoe in his sweaty palm, and his throat seemed to constrict.

'_I could do it now. All I'd have to do is lift my hand, and press my lips to his. Now is the perfect moment! Come on, Arthur, just go for it!'_ Arthur tried—he really did—but his hand stayed frozen at his side. He was so fixated on staring at the nervous deer and clenching the mistletoe in his fist, that he didn't realize Alfred had been saying his name repeatedly.

"What?" he asked, turning to glance up at the taller boy.

"Cool deer, but we should get going if we want to get all this stuff hung up. It may not be as romantic or whatever, but I think the bookshelf is our only option," Alfred said. He was as loud and energetic as ever, and Arthur realized there was no way he'd been thinking of the same thing just moments before. Annoyed with himself, Arthur brusquely extended his abused little plant.

"Use this one…at least someone will get some use out of it," Arthur grumbled. Alfred gave him a funny look, but didn't question him further. He took the little sprig and secured it over the very un-romantic section of arithmetic textbooks and then waited for Arthur at the doorway, looking impatient.

"Come on already, Arty! Stare any harder at that mistletoe and it's gonna burst into flames," Alfred joked, with no sensitivity whatsoever for the mood. Arthur mentally cursed and stomped after him, shaking his head in disgust a little as he did so. They were nearly out the door when Alfred grabbed him, nearly jerking him off his feet.

"What the bloody hell—"

"Shhhhh! _Look_!" Alfred said. Disgruntled, Arthur tried to pop his arm back into the socket with a sullen glare at his roommate. He obliged him, however, and peeked back into the library.

Berwald had entered. He must have used the gym showers to change, as he now wore a rather nice outfit that wasn't part of the school uniform. He looked very mature and handsome. He was walking with another boy they assumed to be his roommate, though since they didn't know many of the seniors, they couldn't be sure.

"Oh, Berwald, I heard a Christmas joke the other day! Would you like to hear it? It's very funny!" the sweet-sounding boy said. Berwald flashed him a small smile and a slight nod.

"Okay, get ready to laugh! What does Father Christmas suffer from if he gets stuck in a chimney?"

"Wh't?" Berwald replied. Despite listening to the joke, his eyes were roving about the library…as if looking for something.

"I _told_ you we should have hung it by the window!" Arthur insisted in a harsh whisper.

"Santa Claus-trophobia!" Berwald's companion chirruped merrily. Alfred chuckled.

"God, that's awful," he commented. Berwald, however, seemed to find it amusing. He smiled, and some of the tension seemed to drain from his shoulders.

"Any an'mals at the tree?" Berwald asked. His brown eyes lighting with excitement, Berwald's friend rushed to the window, pressing his nose eagerly against the glass.

"Aww! There's a pretty little doe! I think I see some birds, too. Emily did such a good job decorating the tree this year," he praised. While he was busy appreciating the view, Berwald had captured the mistletoe in his hand—_Arthur's_ mistletoe—and palmed it. He approached the window, as well, and gently tapped his companion on the shoulder.

"Timo," he said softly. Alfred and Arthur were practically falling through the door trying to hear the conversation.

"That's a _dude_, isn't it?" Alfred whispered. "I mean, that looks like a dude! I thought he said _wife_? Is he gonna kiss him?" Alfred asked rapid-fire. Arthur shoved him.

"_Shut up!_" he hissed.

"What is it, Berwald? Oh!" The brown-eyed boy finally noticed the mistletoe, and barely had time to gasp before the taller boy claimed his lips possessively. When the kiss ended (it was as perfect looking as Arthur imagined it would be) Berwald dropped down to one knee in front of a shocked Timo.

"He's proposing!" Alfred squeaked. Arthur just smiled sappily, feeling a little choked up watching the older boys.

"We've sp'nt years hiding. No m're. _Vill du gifta dig med mig_?" Berwald asked.

"I…I…"

"Say _yes_!" Arthur goaded in a fierce whisper. As if Arthur's words tipped the scale in his mind, Timo nodded once, a single, tremulous word escaped his lips, and Berwald was kissing him again.

"We've intruded enough—let's go," Arthur said. Alfred looked very, very surprised to have seen his Captain in such a light.

"He _did_ say wife, right?" Alfred finally asked. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Clearly he has trouble with English—it could have just been an odd translation," Arthur said.

"Yeah, guess so. Wow…didn't expect that one at all!"

"Why? Thought you were the only gay boy on the rugby team?" Arthur asked innocently. Alfred didn't immediately catch on.

"Well yeah! I mean…hey! Wait a second! I never said I was gay! I just told you I was wondering about it," Alfred said defensively. A long silence stretched between them and Arthur finally had to ask.

"A while back you mentioned that you might ask Matthew for a kiss to test it…you did, didn't you? And Francis caught you?" Arthur asked. It had taken him awhile to piece it together without anyone talking about it, but he was fairly sure he was correct. Alfred shrugged awkwardly beside him.

"Err…something like that," he said. Arthur's tone hardened.

"_Something_? Do clarify."

"Ugh, can we just drop it? It was stupid, and it caused a lot of trouble, and I _really_ don't want to think about it," Alfred said. Arthur gave his roommate a long glance but had no choice but to accept his words.

"Fine. I wish you felt comfortable talking to me about it, though. We _said_ we'd tell each other anything," Arthur reminded, his tone a little hurt. Alfred sighed in annoyance and picked up his pace, so that Arthur could no longer see his profile.

"I'm not gay, okay? We kissed. Nothing more happened. I'm not gay, or straight, or anything! I'm just Alfred, and I don't give a damn about kissing, or not kissing. Is that good enough for you?"

Arthur swallowed thickly, feeling horribly disappointed but also relieved that someone luckier than himself had used the mistletoe's kiss.

"It's….fine, Alfred. I was only curious, that's all. We don't have to talk about it anymore," Arthur said. Alfred finally slowed down, glancing back at him almost nervously.

"You mean it?" he asked. Arthur shrugged.

"Consider it forgotten," he said, with finality in his voice. _'And it is, Arthur. I don't think I can deny being gay anymore, but I have to deny my feelings for Alfred. He can't return them. It's as simple as that.'_

USUK

Arthur was busy with holiday ball preparations all the next day, and he was incredibly grateful for the distraction. Francis seemed to need something to keep him occupied as well, so the two of them worked industriously to follow all of Emily's instructions. The ballroom made for a much more elegant setting (the Halloween dance had been inside the gym), and between hanging wreathes, setting up candles, decorating indoor Christmas trees, and setting up the photo station, Arthur and Francis had been in the ballroom all day after their half morning spent in class.

Finding themselves relatively alone decorating a Christmas tree, Arthur finally broached the subject.

"I know Matthew kissed Alfred," he said. Francis scowled, but otherwise showed no reaction. Arthur bit his lip, not sure what to say. Finally he settled on asking him a question instead. "Have you…err…told Matthew about your dad?"

"_No_." Francis's answer was sharp and unusually harsh, as if he were warning Arthur never to mention the topic again.

"Alright, I didn't think so…but…"

"Arthur, leave it alone," Francis said. Despite his words, just a second of silence passed before he added, "How can he claim it did not mean anything? As if that is supposed to make it feel less like betrayal? If it was so innocent, why did he not ask me about it first?" Francis had shifted out of Arthur's line of sight, so that he had to peek at him through the branches. The taller boy sounded more upset than Arthur had ever heard him sound, which was saying something as he'd seen the other boy endure some hard times as a child.

"I don't know, Francis. I think he regrets it deeply. I don't think he really wants to be with Alfred," Arthur said. Francis sniffed and cleared his throat, as if trying to regain control of his emotions.

"You know how I feel about cheating," Francis replied firmly. Arthur had heard the other boy use such a tone in the past, usually when he had decided he was going to do something and would not back down, no matter the cost. It was the same tone he'd used when he told Arthur he'd regret it if he tattled on him.

"Francis…what are you planning? Whatever it is, wouldn't it be better just to end it? I know it hurts now, but you might still be able to be friends if you don't do something rash," Arthur reasoned. Francis snorted.

"And be like you? So close to what I desire and unable to claim it? Constantly tortured with want and wrestling to deny my needs? No. I could have anyone, and I will find someone else who makes me just as happy. It must end in a way that makes it clear we will never be together again."

"Francis, please reconsider. It was _just_ a kiss. Nothing came of it," Arthur tried. Francis finally rotated around the tree so that they were standing beside each other again.

"This is not _just_ about the kiss. Matthew is insecure—more than you can even imagine—and from the beginning he has treated me like…like…"

"Like how your mum treats your dad?" Arthur guessed. Francis's blue eyes saddened, and he nodded.

"Yes. Just like that, and I _hate_ it. This kiss may have been innocent, but Matthew is not. He does not talk to me when he is upset, and instead he does childish things to get my attention. Matthew may not know my parents' history, but he _did_ know how such an act would make me feel. He knows I do not like him toying with Alfred to make me jealous, and this time he has gone too far," Francis explained. Arthur sighed. When Francis put it like that, his anger really did seem justified.

"I understand, Francis, but I just wish it didn't have to come to this," Arthur said. In a rather strange move, Francis placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and let it slide down to the middle of his back.

"Your concern for me is appreciated, Arthur, but if you _truly_ feel sorry for me, there is something you can do for me. Aren't you at all upset that Alfred went to Matthew for a kiss instead of _you_?" Francis asked. Arthur swallowed heavily, feeling as if Francis's hand on his back was burning through his clothes and scalding his skin.

"Well, of course I was…I mean, that is to say…"

"Be my date for the ball tonight, Arthur. Let us show them both what they are missing, no?" Francis suggested, leaning in close to whisper in Arthur's ear. The royal flushed with color, unable to deny the way his body responded to Francis touching him and speaking to him in such a suggestive way.

He thought of Alfred's words yesterday, how he had denied being gay, how he'd been annoyed with Arthur for bringing the topic up yet again. Alfred wanted things to be simple and friendly between them, and nothing more. If Arthur ever wanted to be kissed, wanted to be desired, _this_ was his chance.

"O-okay. I'll go out with you," Arthur agreed. Francis's hand fell away from his back almost instantly, and a satisfied smile settled on his lips, as if he were a cat that had just devoured a rather succulent canary.

"Tonight at 7:30 then. I will pick you up, and I will show your Alfred the proper way to kiss someone else's boyfriend."

Almost instantly, Arthur had regretted encouraging Francis's revenge against Matthew and Alfred…but at the same time, the jealous little part of him that had never really forgiven Alfred for being so close to Matthew delighted in the fact that he was finally—_finally_—going to give Alfred a taste of his own medicine. He could have friends with benefits, too, after all.

He placed the ornament that was still in his hands onto the tree, and glanced around the room. Emily approached, looking a little nervously after where Francis had left.

"I'm not sure what's going on with you and Francis and Alfred, and it's not really any of my business, but can I give you some presidential advice?" she asked. Arthur nodded, curious as to what the senior girl would say.

"If you make a habit of drama, by the time you're a senior, you'll have ruined so many friendships pointlessly that you won't be able to keep track of them all. You're still really young, Arthur, and you're a sweet guy. Don't get caught up in all that rubbish. I don't know what Francis is planning, but by the looks of it, he's been stewing over it for days. It can't be anything good," she said. Arthur didn't know why, but he felt the need to defend Francis.

"He's done with Matthew, that's all. He…he's asked me out. And I've said yes," Arthur said. It was the first time he'd come out to anyone, though he hadn't used the exact words, the implication was clear enough. Emily seemed to be considering the situation, and the slightly frightened look on his face. Her expression softened.

"Well, best of luck then. I guess it's always a little messy when you date your friends, but maybe it's unavoidable. Silly me thinking a few words could change that. Just _try_ and be careful. I haven't seen much of your friend Matthew, but he seems like a rather sensitive sort of bloke."

"We're just going to the ball. That's all," Arthur said. He refused to feel guilty. He hadn't done anything wrong, not to Matthew, and certainly not to anyone else. Maybe his intentions were less than pure, but his actions were perfectly acceptable.

USUK

When Arthur returned to the room, Alfred was rummaging through his baggage, clearly looking for something.

"Oh! Hey, Arthur! Have you seen my tie? The red one?" he asked. Arthur crossed the room to the dresser, pulled open Alfred's messy underwear drawer, and extracted the tie effortlessly. "Awesome! You're a lifesaver!" Alfred said.

"You didn't come help decorate," Arthur accused lightly.

"Sorry. I was doing some last minute extra credit work for Professor Higgins."

"Ah," Arthur said. He knew he should tell Alfred about his date for the evening, but he didn't. He sat on his bed instead, and watched his roommate prepare for the evening.

"Aren't you gonna get dressed?" Alfred asked. Arthur glanced down at his clothes, realizing they were really quite rumpled and inappropriate for the formal dance. Alfred fumbled with his tie a few moments, and Arthur quietly crossed the room again and tied it for him. Alfred smiled at him so sweetly that it hurt Arthur to look. He smoothed the tie, staring at it intently for a moment, before turning his back to Alfred and hugging himself bracingly.

"Alfred…I'm gay," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Behind him, he could hear Alfred shifting nervously.

"Err…yeah…I kinda figured," Alfred said at last. After a pause he added, "When I borrowed your laptop the other day to fix your virus, I couldn't help but notice your browsing history. Uh, ya know, if you don't want to really mess up your computer, you should probably avoid shady gay porn sites."

Arthur's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He had _no_ idea what to say. Thankfully, Alfred continued on, after nervously clearing his throat.

"So…I guess you didn't ask Emily to the dance tonight, huh?"

Arthur shook his head, still not turning around. He crossed to his bed and sat, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.

"I asked Patty," Alfred said. Beginning to sound a little nervous, he added, "But it's not really a date. We're just gonna hang out with Matthew if Francis breaks up with him."

Still, Arthur didn't say anything.

"Arthur…are you okay? It's not a big deal that you're gay. You know I don't care. We'll still be best friends. Nothing will change between us," Alfred said, not realizing he was just throwing salt on the wound. Arthur saw the tips of his dress shoes come into view, and he suddenly wanted to punch him as hard and as violently at he could, right in his balls. Instead, he stood and pushed past him with a distracted air.

"I need to take a shower."

Alfred realized he'd messed up again somehow, but didn't have the faintest clue what he had done wrong. Growing a little annoyed with Arthur's sulking without explanation, Alfred decided to let his friend cool off in the bathroom.

"Whatever. Now where did I put my deodorant? Is it in my gym bag?" he asked himself, beginning to crawl around on the floor looking for his missing things. For some reason, Arthur had been in a distracted mood all week, and hadn't even chided him for letting his half of the room get messy. It was highly out of character for the royal, but the past week had given Alfred much bigger issues to worry about. He was fairly sure he was going to pass the semester, but not by much in certain subjects. He'd sorted out the awkwardness with Matthew, just in time for his mother to arrive tomorrow. He'd have a friend hanging around that actually liked him as a person for once, a passing report card, and a rugby jacket to show for his first few months at school. For once in his life, his mom was going to be proud of him.

USUK

Alfred occupied himself with typing another email to his mother while Arthur silently dressed. He flashed his roommate a big smile, hoping his good mood would rub off on him.

"Looking good, buddy! Hey! I almost forgot—do you want your Christmas present now or tomorrow?"

Arthur just shrugged his shoulders, dropping heavily onto his bed.

"It doesn't really matter to me. Did you get me a book?" he asked, glancing at the door.

"Nope! Brace yourself, 'cause this is an awesome Christmas gift!" Alfred dove under his bed once more and pulled out the horridly wrapped unicorn. He'd used two different types of paper, and a giant bow. Arthur was nearly startled out of his quiet mood, but remained rather stoic in the end.

"What the bloody hell is that?" he asked. Alfred proudly pushed it into his arms. Reluctantly, Arthur tore at the paper, until the big, fluffy unicorn was revealed. He gave Alfred a tight smile, his green eyes filling with some unidentifiable emotion.

"It's a unicorn! Just like the one Francis tore up when you were a kid! I already named her Pinky. Ha, you won't believe what happened in the store when Mattie and I were shopping—"

Alfred was interrupted by a knock on the door. In a moment that was fast turning awkward, Arthur set the unicorn down on the ground. He wasn't acting nearly as excited as Alfred had pictured him being, and in fact, he was making Alfred feel a little stupid for giving a fifteen year old boy such a present.

"If you don't like it…"

"It's not that. It's…err…cute. Thanks. I think my date is here, though. I'll see you at the dance, later, I suppose. Have a nice evening with Patty and Matthew."

"Your date? You didn't mention a—"

"Are you ready? I can see that you are. Oh dear. What is that god-awful eyesore?" Francis asked, sneering at the unicorn. He could be quite the prat when he wanted to be, and it was obvious he was very much in the mood to be a prat. Arthur thought he would want to play the moment up, to watch Alfred's expression for any hint of pain, but now that it was here, he just wanted to be gone with Francis.

"It's just something Alfred got as a joke. Come on, let's go."

"What is your hurry? Can I not take a moment to admire my date?"

"Arthur…" Alfred said, sounding very confused. Arthur glanced backwards at him with pain filled green eyes before lacing his hand firmly with Francis's and tugging him towards the door. Francis, however, was not satisfied just yet. He tugged Arthur right back, so that he fell against Francis's chest. Francis leaned down and kissed Arthur passionately, sliding one hand over Arthur's backside. His blue eyes slid to Alfred's for the briefest of moments, as if to say, _'How do _you_ like it?'_

As the truth slammed into him with all the power of a freight train, Alfred realized he didn't like it _at all_. He scowled, his fists balling up tightly at his sides. Alfred rarely was pushed to the point of anger, but now it bubbled up inside him like a volcano. He stormed past them, shoving Francis hard with his shoulder as he did so.

"It's one thing to be gay, and it's another to suck face with Francis in our room. Don't be such a…a…_faggot_. It's disgusting!" Alfred spat, slamming the door satisfyingly behind him. Francis sneered at the closed door and instantly released Arthur, leaving him slumped against the wall.

"Ugh, I do not know how you can stand him, Arthur. He is so undignified, and _so_ stupid it hurts."

"That…that wasn't how my first kiss was supposed to be," Arthur said hollowly. He thought of mistletoe and felt something inside him snap like a twig. Francis, at least, had the grace to look a little guilty.

"Arthur…I am truly sorry. I had no way of knowing…"

"It's not your fault. He wouldn't have…he never would have kissed me. It doesn't matter. I'm being silly. It's…it's not important," Arthur said, breathing in deeply, almost as if he were hyperventilating. He sunk to the floor, trembling as he did so. "I came out today. I came out to my best friend, who I think I might love, and he bought me the most amazing bloody unicorn I've ever seen, but I'm not with him—I'm with _you_, and the whole school knows that I'm…I'm…"

"You are gay," Francis said softly. His lust for revenge had finally abated enough for him to take notice of Arthur. He sat gingerly beside the other boy, opening his arms to him. At first, Arthur resisted, but after a few moments of silent waiting, the royal's defenses crumbled and he latched onto Francis almost desperately.

"I have a bottle of wine in my room," Francis offered. Arthur looked like it was taking everything he had not to breakdown completely.

"Get it. Get it _now_."

USUK

Alfred furiously stormed through the crowded ball room, searching for Matthew, ignoring Patty's confused questioning. He found Emily before he found Matthew.

"I guess Arthur told you," she surmised.

"Told him what?" Patty asked. Not taking her eyes off Alfred, who looked nearly transformed with anger, she offered a simplified version.

"Arthur and Francis are dating now."

"I have to find Matthew. If Francis hasn't told him…if that _bastard_ shows up with his hands all over Arthur, and _that's_ how he breaks up with him…" Alfred bit out. Emily's eyes widened in realization.

"He's here, Alfred. Or at least he was. Bloody fuck—I didn't know they hadn't broken up yet. I'll help you look for him," Emily offered. Nearby, Elizabeta overheard part of the conversation, and came over dragging a reluctant looking Roderich.

"What's going on?" She asked. Patty explained nervously.

"Poor Matthew! We'll help you look, too," she said. The five of them fanned out over the ballroom, trying to find Matthew before Francis found him. All the while, Alfred was working himself up into a furious, blind temper. He had never thrown a punch at someone, always finding himself on the receiving end of them, but he realized that if he couldn't prevent Matthew from being hurt in such a stupid, pointless way, he was going to punch Francis, and damned if he cared about the consequences.

A tiny voice, nearly too soft to be heard whispered, _'This is all my fault. Francis is just giving me a taste of my own medicine. I took what was his…and he took what was mine.'_

But it was easier to be angry than sympathetic, and so Alfred ignored the voice and pressed onwards, allowing his anger to consume him.

**A/N:** Muahahahahahahahahhahahaha! THE ANGER! THE PAIN! THE DRAMA! Oh, and Berwald proposed. Awww. :P Fuck. I have _got_ to work. I should have started my shift like, five hours ago. Work is so freakin' stupid, getting in the way of my fanfiction time. Maybe if I work super fast, I can write another chapter tonight. I'll try really hard! Arthur is about to get wasted and make an ass out of himself, and I _really_ wanna write that action. Gotta love drunk, horny, bitter Arthur!

Note on Finland's name – I've seen him mostly called Tino, but I also read that Tino isn't a very good translation, and that Timo is the more common Finnish name. So I went with Timo. Sorry if their scene was kinda short after all the buildup, but Berwald is going to be an important character for Alfred as the story progresses, so he and Finland will pop back up. I also had a lot of fun with the explanation for why Berwald calls him "wife," btw. :D Despite Berwald's importance, it is so freaking hard to write his weird ass grunting language. I'm just like "Eh, sprinkle an apostrophe here, drop a vowel there…" Really no rhyme or reason to it. So if it's painful to read, I apologize, lol.


	16. Helen Pays a Visit

Chapter 16

Matthew was dressed impeccably, in a soft baby blue dress shirt he'd purchased while shopping with Francis, who had said he looked angelic in it. He hoped, prayed really, that Francis would show up at the ball willing to reconcile. He stood by the punch bowl, one of the first people there, and waited, watching the doors.

"Hey teddy bear," a familiar, annoying voice heckled. Matthew glanced to his side sharply to see Gilbert Beilschmidt crawling out from under the punch bowl table. It startled him, and he jumped slightly.

"What are you—" Matthew's question proved unnecessary as Gilbert swiftly ducked behind him and the sounds of liquid pouring into the punch bowl could be heard.

"I have to get more creative each time. That crazy bitch Emily has me on her radar now," Gilbert commented.

"You r-really shouldn't do that. W-what if someone got really sick because of it?" Matthew asked, shielding the other boy all the same. Gilbert chuckled darkly.

"Fuck if I care. God, teddy bear, your goody-two-shoe routine is a total drag on my awesome-ness."

"What?" Matthew asked, not even able to understand the fast talking German boy.

"I _said_ you're lame, asshat," Gilbert insulted. Matthew flushed with color and frowned primly.

"_What_ did you call me?" he asked. Gilbert seemed to have already forgotten. Matthew finally got a good look at him and frowned in disapproval. He was wearing a T-shirt styled to look like a tuxedo, with baggy jeans that draped dangerously low on his hips, revealing black and neon yellow plaid boxers. He wore a big iron ring on one hand that featured a thick cross, and his brown eyes were a little red, as if he were high on something. Matthew considered the boy's stupid grin, rumpled clothing, and disheveled hair. Yes, he was most certainly smoking or snorting _something_.

"There's a dress code for this dance," Matthew said reprovingly. The topic made his thoughts drift to Francis, and he wondered what he would be wearing. Probably something designer, and he'd no doubt catch everyone's attention. It looked as if Gilbert would, too, but for entirely different reasons.

"I know. That's why I'm wearin' my tux—like a boss I might add."

"Half the time, I don't understand what you're saying, Gilbert," Matthew replied, sparing the class clown a worried look.

"It's because you don't speak awesome. Alright, my gay quota is full for the day. Catch ya later, butt muncher," Gilbert said, before pulling out ear buds and stuffing them into his ears. Even when he was a few steps away, Matthew could hear the heavy death metal pouring out of the buds. Matthew shook his head. Gilbert was certainly a unique boy.

"I feel sorry for your parents, Gilbert," he commented softly before resuming waiting. He almost reached for a glass of punch, and then remembered what Gilbert had just done. He stood nervously for a few more moments and then poured himself a glass, nearly chugging it.

He waited some more.

USUK

Arthur passed Francis the nearly empty wine bottle and sobbed.

"He's _never_ going to n-n-notice me! He doesn't even…_sniff…_he doesn't…_hic_…I need to smell his sheets."

Francis (who was merely tipsy) shot his friend a weird look.

"Maybe the wine was a bad idea," he mused. Still, he'd felt guilty about taking Arthur's first kiss when it obviously meant so much to the stressed boy, and he didn't know how else to comfort him aside from taking _another_ first—which would have, no doubt, sent him totally off the deep end. Moving with surprising speed, Arthur was up and stumbling towards Alfred's bed. Francis's eyes went wide in alarm as Arthur tripped over some of Alfred's dirty clothes and face planted into Alfred's bed, where he started to wallow about.

A mean little voice in Francis's subconscious chuckled and goaded him into snapping some pictures. Nobly, Francis resisted the urge…though it was tempting.

"You know, Arthur, I should be very angry with you. You are supposed to be my revenge on Matthew. He'll hardly be jealous of you now," Francis said with a sigh, leaning against the wall a bit glumly. Arthur twisted towards his own bed and spied the unicorn. Francis winced as the Brit rolled out of the bed energetically and thumped hard against the floor.

"I _love_ this unicorn. Do you hear me? I _love_ you, Alfred-unicorn. I'm going to keep you forever, and I'll brush your mane, and bake you tasty treats, and I'll _love_ you so bloody much it makes your pink, fluffy heart fuckin' explode."

Francis arched a slender brow. He felt like he should be videotaping this. He pulled out his phone—just to check his messages, of course—but somehow his finger found its way to the video button.

"You and I will be best friends forever!" Alfred-unicorn said. Arthur exploded into a new round of sobbing.

"I want to be _more_ than just your best friend, you _stupid_, bloody wanker! I want you to kiss me under the fucking mistletoe! I want you to…to…hold me, and touch me, and…and…"

"Ride you?" Francis suggested with a desperate attempt to hold in his laughter. The camera phone shook a little in his hand.

"_Fuck_ yeah. But…but you just don't _get_ it."

"Because he is a unicorn?" Francis goaded. Arthur sniffled into the toy's soft fur.

"_Exactly_. Because you'll _always_ just be a unicorn," England half-sobbed, as if he were making perfect sense. Francis stopped the recording and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

"Come on, _mon licorne_. Let's go to the dance and make fools of ourselves. You are cheering me up already," Francis said with a laugh.

"Alfred and Patty will be there, dancing, falling for each other," Arthur moaned. Francis rolled his eyes.

"I somehow doubt that."

"_No_. He loves her! I've always sus…suspect…"

"Suspected?" Francis offered.

"Suspected what?" Arthur replied, finally stumbling to his feet, looking confused and rumpled. He was totally hammered. A part of Francis knew they shouldn't go anywhere, but the tipsy part of him decided it didn't sound like an entirely bad idea.

"Come with me," Francis said, extending his hand. Arthur took it, and together they half-stumbled out of the room. Francis whacked his arm on the doorframe and started laughing like a lunatic, causing Arthur to join in.

"That's what you get, you French bastard!" Arthur said, between chuckles.

"Hey! That is no way to talk to your boyfriend," Francis replied.

"My what?" Arthur said.

"You and I are a couple now. Francis and Arthur. Fran and Art. _Fart!_" Francis snorted with laughter.

"But…but…I don't want my couple name to be _fart_. And you dress better than me! I'll always look sloppy next to you."

"This is very true," Francis replied. "And you are _so_ short! I feel like a pedophile."

"Did you just call me a pedophile?" Arthur roared.

"No, you unicorn-fucker," Francis replied. Arthur seemed appeased.

"Oh, jolly good then. Fran…Franny…I want…I really need some pudding."

"We do _not _need your nasty British pudding," Francis replied, steering them towards the ballroom.

"Let's go to the cooking room and make pudding!" Arthur begged.

"Gross. Is that what you homos call it these days?" Gilbert commented. He'd been kicked out of the dance, and now he was wandering back towards the dorm room he shared with Roderich.

"Ugh, go away you ugly little stoner," Francis said. Gilbert scowled and flicked him off, continuing on his way.

"Are we at the ball yet? I'm a prince. I should be at the ball," Arthur slurred drunkenly.

"Yes, I will get you there long before midnight," Francis said jokingly. "Otherwise you might turn into a squat little pumpkin with furry vines for eyebrows."

"Hardy har har har. _You're_ not a very nice boyfriend," Arthur chided.

"So far, we've spent our entire relationship drunk," Francis mused.

"It's the only way it's bearable. Are you the one grabbing my arse or is that someone else?" Arthur asked, leaning more heavily into Francis's side.

"Of course it is me. No one else is in this hall except the stoner," Francis replied.

"Nu-uh. There's the little green bunny…with the wings…and…and…that gnome chap with such a lovely smile. I should have known he wouldn't grab my bum."

"Are you really seeing things? That's not good. We should go to the nurse," Francis said. It was the first intelligent thing he'd said all evening. Unfortunately, however, they'd reached the doors of the ballroom.

Before they could go in, however, Alfred came out—Matthew on his heels. Matthew froze, his eyes blinking widely at the sight of his boyfriend draped all over Arthur, both of them tipsy, Francis's hand massaging a rather intimate area.

For a moment, there was total silence. Then Francis gave Matthew a heartbreakingly bitter look.

"_What_? It doesn't _mean_ anything. He has just decided he's gay and I'm only helping him to pop his cherry, since his vulgar little roommate thinks he is such a disgusting faggot," Francis said.

Matthew swallowed thickly and realized he was going to have to handle the situation, since Alfred was still furious and Francis and Arthur were clearly intoxicated.

"I'm sorry, Francis. I'm sorry I've put you in this shape. The dance is nearly over now. Will you come back to the dorm with me?" Matthew asked quietly. He hoped they could get them to cooperate before the majority of the students began leaving. Luckily, Francis looked tired and needy. He dropped Arthur like a sack of potatoes and stumbled towards Matthew.

"I'm dumping you. You broke my heart," Francis accused.

"Okay, Francis. We'll talk about it in the morning," Matthew soothed. Alfred, meanwhile, had indignantly gone to Arthur's side, scowling at Francis.

"You just dropped him, you asshole!"

"Alfred, just let it go. Get Arthur safely in bed, okay? I'll take care of Francis," Matthew said. Seeing as he'd been angry for nearly two hours, Alfred's temper was finely beginning to wear down.

"Arthur…Arty…are you okay?" Alfred asked. Arthur seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. Alfred gently tapped his cheek. A pair of brilliant green eyes struggled to focus on him.

"Unicorn?" Arthur asked. Alfred flashed a confused expression before bearing the brunt of Arthur's weight and pulling him to his feet. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to get Arthur draped over his back, his legs entangled around Alfred's hips.

From further down the hallway, Matthew glanced backwards.

"Got him, Alfred?"

"Yeah," Alfred grunted. At least Arthur seemed happy about being held. He hugged Alfred tightly and burrowed his face into his neck.

"Home?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm taking you home," Alfred answered. He was surprised to realize Arthur was crying against his neck.

"'M sorry, Alfie," Arthur mumbled. Alfred felt his heart clench with guilt over the words he'd so harshly thrown at his roommate earlier in the night.

"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. Just close your eyes and rest, Artie. I'll get you into bed," Alfred soothed.

"Sleep with me?" Arthur asked pitifully. Alfred swallowed thickly, hitching Arthur up a little higher on his back, and continued trudging down the hallway.

"Sure, Artie, if you want," he said.

"And Pinky?" Arthur bargained.

"Him too," Alfred agreed, a small smile finally twisting his lips. _'Arthur is really cute when he's drunk,'_ Alfred thought fondly. Barely had that thought registered when Arthur burped loudly in his ear…and promptly vomited down the back of his suit.

"Oh…that did _not_ sound good," Matthew said from further up ahead. Alfred nearly gagged, shaking his head a bit in revulsion.

"No…not good, Mattie. No more booze for Arthur. I actually _liked_ this suit. Damn," Alfred said. On his back, Arthur had managed to fall asleep in his own vomit, the tears drying on his cheeks.

Finally, they reached their dorms without passing any faculty or upperclassmen. It was a minor miracle, really. Alfred had never been so grateful in his life to see the inside of their dorm room. His back was _aching_. For a little guy, Arthur certainly wasn't a light weight.

Deciding he would be taking his suit to the dry cleaners anyway, and might as well dirty his sheets instead of Arthur's, Alfred unloaded the smaller boy on his own curiously disheveled bed.

"If I find out you and Francis made out in my bed…" Alfred trailed off dangerously, but Arthur merely hiccupped innocently in his sleep. With a sigh, Alfred stripped off his soiled suit and took a hasty shower. He returned with a damp cloth and wiped Arthur down as best he could. He didn't hesitate at all to unbutton the other boy's shirt and strip his pants off. When he was clad in only his soft, cotton briefs, Alfred lifted him once more (bridal style this time) and lugged him to his own bed. With an exaggerated grunt, he dropped him onto the mattress, marveling at how it was possible for such a small package to weigh so much.

"You gotta lay off the scones, buddy," Alfred groused, only because he knew Arthur could not hear him. Feeling a little silly, Alfred placed the large unicorn at the foot of the bed, where it would not be in the way, and crawled into the extra space beside Arthur. The royal mumbled something in his sleep and curled into Alfred's torso. Fighting with his own blush and the covers, Alfred managed to get them tucked in and settled, at long last.

In blissful relief, he closed his eyes…and blinked them open what felt like only minutes later to an insistent knocking on their door.

Only one thought raced through his mind, with his roommate practically naked and draped over him, a ridiculous unicorn in bed with them, their room a mess, and his sheets and his good suit smelling of stale vomit across the room.

'_Shit! Mom!'_

Arthur, heavy sleeper that he was, barely grunted as Alfred flung himself out of bed and tucked the sheets around Arthur up to his chin. He made a mad dash for the soiled suit and bed sheet, which he balled up and raced about with for a few moments before chunking them into the bathtub. All the while, a furious mantra of _'Shit, shit, shit, shit!' _raced through his mind.

The knocking grew a little louder.

"Alfred? Darling?" his mother's voice called quietly. A quick glance at the window told Alfred it had to be early still. Her flight must have come in sooner than they expected. Of all the luck!

Still trying to be quiet, Alfred shoved things under his bed as hastily as he could manage, and tried to make it look less obvious that he didn't have a fitted sheet on his bed. Lastly, to block the piles of dirty laundry, wadded up paper balls, and various other things, Alfred stuffed Pinky under the gap between his bed and the floor, forcing it all in deep and obscuring the mess. He took a moment to breathe in deeply and then ran nervous hands through his too-long hair. He'd meant to get a haircut. Too late now.

He opened the door, making the 'shh' gesture as he did so.

"Arthur's still asleep," he said. Despite the long plane ride, and the ridiculously early hour, his mother looked immaculate as always.

"Oh, _honey_, what have you _done_ to yourself?" his mother said by way of greeting, entering the room and flicking on the light to better inspect his oily skin. He pulled away in irritation, scowling at her lightly.

"Give me a break, Mom! It's six in the morning! I haven't exactly had time to shower and rinse my face," Alfred grumbled. Helen Jones made a 'tsk' noise and glanced about the room, eyeing Arthur's messy hair poking out from the blanket with unveiled interest.

"Well, it certainly smells like two boys live in here. Don't they send a maid around, darling?"

"Hi mom," Alfred finally said, ignoring her question in favor of smiling. Despite her nitpicking, he truly was excited to see her. Alfred loved his parents, and getting to see them after they'd been gone for weeks at a time as a child was always special. His mother finally seemed to settle into the room slightly and really _looked_ at him. She smiled, and opened her arms. Alfred hugged her happily, closing his eyes as he smelled her perfume—his favorite.

"You're taller!" she said in surprise. Alfred smiled bashfully.

"Not by much," he said.

"Yes so by much—at least an inch or two," she insisted. Alfred was surprised to realize she was right. He'd always come up to his mother's collar bone, and now he found himself staring at her neck. That was saying something, as his mother was tall even for a model.

"Ha, Arthur's gonna accuse me of stealing his growth," he said. His mother released him and sent him to fetch her luggage from the hallway. Meanwhile, she settled on the couch, really studying their room. Her eyes landed on his rugby jacket, slung proudly over his desk. Returning to the room, Alfred hurried to show it off. He brought it over for her inspection proudly, his chest puffed up, like a cat presenting a mouse to its owner.

"It's lovely, Alfred. Your father is so proud you made the team," she said. Clearly the separation had made her a little nicer. Alfred could tell that she had missed him, as much as a woman like herself was able to miss someone. Such kind words would have made him tear up in the past, but Alfred managed to keep it together. He smiled broadly instead, and tried on the jacket to show her how it fit. Unfortunately, smiling was the wrong thing to do in front of his mother, whose eye for imperfections was as sharp as that of a sniper eyeing a target.

"I'm gonna get more patches just as soon as we—"

"Alfred, you're not going to like this, but I think you need braces," she said.

"Aww, mom!" Alfred whined, seeming to deflate inside his jacket. His mother, however, had already made up her mind.

"Now don't start with that tone, Alfred. I noticed it last summer, but I hoped they wouldn't crowd up so noticeably as your wisdom teeth came in. There's no denying it though—" she reached up and pushed at his lip a bit. "Your teeth have definitely gotten more crooked. I think I have an old contact here in London that can give us the name of a reputable orthodontist. Of course, I never needed braces. You get that from your father's father. He's got teeth like a…well…like something with ugly teeth."

Alfred merely glared sullen-faced. His mother patted his cheek affectionately…then wiped her hand noticeably on his blanket.

"You're oily, dear. Don't let me stop you from your morning routine. I've brought a good book. I'll just wait out here," she said cheerily. Sad that he hadn't gotten to show off his jacket anymore, Alfred carefully took it back to the desk and followed his mother's orders, disappearing into the bathroom.

Finally, Arthur stirred under the mound of blankets. Not realizing they had a guest, he swung them off, revealing how close to nudity he was to Alfred's mother. Amused, she smoothly crossed her legs, and waited for the teenager to notice her. He didn't. He yawned hugely, wincing at the mysterious pain in his back and shoulders, and scratched a bit at his wild hair. He waltzed right past the First Lady, banged once on the bathroom door, and entered just as Alfred was brushing his apparently crooked teeth.

"Errr…Arfur…ma maum ish her," he said. Alfred waved him off, as if swatting at an annoying fly, and tugged at his briefs so he could take a piss. Eyes widening in alarm, Alfred hastily lunged to close the door. Outside, his mother was snickering. Alfred spat into the sink, hurriedly washing his mouth. He emerged quickly from the bathroom, sliding out of the door so as to open it as little as possible. They heard the sounds of the shower behind him.

"He..err…had a late night. Not much of a morning person. I better get him some clothes," Alfred said. He grabbed Arthur's beloved khakis, a fresh pair of underwear, and a sweater and tossed the pile into the bathroom. "Sorry about that!" he said sheepishly. His mother just shrugged.

"It doesn't bother me. It gets pretty crazy backstage during a runway show, you know," she said with a wink. Alfred just smiled awkwardly.

"So…" he said, at the same time his mother did. They shared a laugh.

"How's Ellie?" Alfred asked, finally settling near his mother on his bed.

"She's…well…actually, I can't say that I've seen her. I assume the housekeeper is still feeding her. I haven't been home hardly at all since you left. First I had to do a series of business meetings with your grandfather for the hotels, and then I had to travel with your father on his tour of the universities."

"Oh…well I hope she's okay," Alfred said worriedly. His mother brushed it off.

"I'm sure she's fine. Your father was home. He usually tends to her if she yowls loudly enough."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed, scratching idly at his arm.

"Well, how has it been with Prince Arthur?" his mother asked. For some reason, Alfred hadn't really talked about Arthur to his parents aside from a few random comments here and there. It was almost as though his friendship with Arthur felt too special and private to share with an outsider like his mother.

And that was strange, because before, Alfred had never wanted to hide anything from her—especially something she might approve of or praise. Alfred settled on a casual shrug.

"Fine, I suppose. We're pretty good friends."

"And will I get to meet this Matthew you've mentioned?" she asked.

"Mattie? Oh yeah, he'll be hanging out with us. He's staying here for the break, too. I think his parents are pretty well off, but they don't want to pay to fly him home."

"Makes sense. Airfare is _so_ overpriced these days. You wouldn't believe how many frequent flier miles I've racked up these past few months. God, can you really believe it's been nearly six months?" she asked. Alfred laughed a bit and shook his head. It really _was_ hard to believe. His life had changed so much, and he hadn't realized it until his mother was sitting in his dorm room. She seemed so out of place, as if his home life and his school life were two worlds that were never meant to collide with each other.

Yet there she was, criticizing his oily skin and telling him he needed braces. It was more than a little jarring.

"How's dad? Alfred asked.

"Oh, you know your father. Busy busy. He's been doing quite a bit of lecturing—trying to improve his ratings with the younger crowd. So far it's worked well. That's no surprise though. Your father could charm the pants off a nun," she said. Alfred grinned.

"Do nuns even wear pants?" he asked. His mother laughed, revealing her perfect white teeth, big, beautiful blue eyes twinkling happily.

"Well if they did, he could do it. Speaking of charm, how about this girlfriend of yours? I admit I couldn't believe it…but seeing you now…you've changed, son. This school has been good for you," she said in a pleased tone. Alfred smiled happily.

"Oh, that didn't really work out, but I'm pretty close with this girl named Patricia," Alfred said. The bathroom door had opened, and Arthur emerged just to hear the tail end of their conversation. His eyes widened in embarrassment to see someone sitting in their dorm room, and there was no question who she was. Of course, he'd seen her photograph, but it didn't really do her justice. Alfred's mother looked like an angel. For a moment, Arthur could only stare, and blink stupidly.

"Err…hello, Mrs. Jones," Arthur greeted.

"Ah, your royal highness, Prince Arthur. It's a pleasure. I'm sorry for intruding on you boys so early this morning," she said smoothly. He extended his hand automatically and she shook it, inclining her head slightly as she did so. For a jarring moment, Arthur flashed back to the first impression Alfred had made on him, and marveled that he and this woman shared D.N.A.

"The pleasure is mine," Arthur replied, somewhat stiffly. He glanced about the room, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I apologize for the mess. It's been rather hectic what with exams," he said. Alfred's mother waved off his comment with a graceful hand motion. Arthur wanted to snub her, because of how poorly he _knew_ she treated Alfred, but when she was actually standing in the room with him, he couldn't manage it. Hell, he was gay and even he found her distracting. It was rare to see a person in real life that was so inhumanly perfect. It was almost a bit intimidating.

'_Gods, how did Alfred grow up with this?'_ Arthur wondered, thinking of his own rather homely mother with her thick eyebrows and his short, balding father. In contrast, Helen Jones looked like she'd just walked off a runway in Paris. She was positively dripping money, elegance, and refinery.

"Well, Alfred, you and I have a very busy day ahead of us. We're expected in the principal's office shortly. Hurry up and get dressed, dear. Have you kept that green dress shirt in good condition?"

"Yes, Mom," Alfred replied, going dutifully to the closet to fetch it. At least Helen's presence explained the mystery of why all the dirty, soiled things had been crammed in the bathtub. No doubt Alfred had done some hasty damage control. Arthur's head was pounding, and as he watched his roommate follow his mother's gentle orders like a well-trained soldier, he burned with the desire to somehow kick her out and find out what had happened the previous night.

Alfred was acting like nothing was wrong, but Arthur didn't want to play that game again. This time, they were going to talk about what had happened. He was determined, even if it meant locking Helen up in a janitor's closet somewhere along the "tour" of the school.

For the moment, though, retreat seemed like the wisest option. He hesitated over where to go, but then he remembered that he was supposedly dating Francis. He could go to his room.

"I'll give you two some time to catch up. I've just got to step down the hall for a bit," Arthur said. After politely excusing himself, he hurriedly left the room in search of Francis. Maybe _he_ knew what had happened last night. He knocked on Francis's door a good ten minutes before a sleepy-eyed Matthew finally opened it.

"O-oh! Arthur! Didn't expect you so early. Err, come on in," Matthew said awkwardly. Arthur had honestly forgotten all about Matthew, who probably hated him now if he'd heard the news. It was too late to back down now, though. Arthur entered the room, feeling foolish. Francis was still sleeping like a baby, carefully tended to and lovingly tucked in bed.

"Hey! Wake up, you arse! What the bloody hell happened last night?" Arthur said, focusing his annoyance on Francis. The French boy began to curse, and weakly chunked a pillow at him. Arthur chunked it right back, and then pulled off the blankets.

"Stop, stop! You annoying pest!" Francis half-shouted. Smiling a bit disbelievingly at them (were they _seriously_ claiming to be dating each other?), Matthew moved to his own bed and began to neatly make it up. If Francis had picked anyone—absolutely _anyone_—else, Matthew would have been devastated…but somehow he just couldn't take the idea of Francis with Arthur seriously. In fact, it was almost downright humorous. He sat on his straightened blanket, clutching his favorite teddy bear in his lap, and watched them.

"Francis, I said get the fuck up!" Arthur roared, finally resorting to pulling Francis's hair.

"Ow, you beastly little gnome! Let go of my hair!" Francis yelled. He was naked except for the silky little blue briefs he loved so much. Truth be told, Matthew probably loved them more than Francis did. Somehow, they covered everything, but just barely.

"I need to know everything that you remember from last night. I remember the wine…and…and the awful things Alfred said…but he carried me back to the dorm, didn't he? I don't know who I should be angry at," Arthur blustered.

"Why do you automatically assume it is me?" Francis retorted, sensitively massaging his scalp. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

"I'm pretty sure it was _your_ wine I got sloshed on, Francis," he accused.

"At your own request! Are you going to barge in here every morning at the crack of dawn bossing me around and yelling at me? No wonder Alfred has stayed in the closet! He's probably afraid if he comes out you'll eat his balls! Calm _down_, you angry little British person!" Francis insisted. Arthur scowled, one of his impressive eyebrows twitching menacingly.

"_Explain_," he demanded. Surprisingly, it was Matthew that spoke up.

"Alfred said Francis came to pick you up for the dance, and that he was surprised by it and upset and said some things he probably shouldn't have, and then came to find me at the dance to warn me. He found me, and we waited for the two of you to show up, but you didn't come. I thought…for a moment…that maybe the two of you…so we decided to come back to our dorms but found you both in the hallway, pretty hammered, thankfully clothed," Matthew said.

Arthur blushed in embarrassment. Francis pulled the blankets around his shoulders, looking very much like a shame-faced little boy.

"I admit…it's a little hard to take you seriously as a couple," here Matthew smiled, as if he _knew_ Francis was acting a fool, "but I guess congratulations are in order. It would have been more polite to officially break up with me first, though, Francis," Matthew said good naturedly.

He was handling it all remarkably well, but Arthur got the distinct impression the two of them had somehow become a joke overnight. Truth be told, Arthur _felt_ like a joke, so it made sense.

"Yes, well, thank you. I suspect we'll be very happy together," Arthur said, just to be defiant. Matthew actually giggled into the fur of his bear. Arthur and Francis exchanged embarrassed looks. This wasn't how they'd pictured this going at all. Alfred was just as oblivious as ever, and Matthew clearly thought the whole thing was laughable.

Finally, Francis snapped. He roughly grabbed Arthur's sweater and tugged him downwards, slanting his lips over his. When the harsh kiss ended (and Arthur was wincing at Francis's morning breath) Francis gave him a haughty look and the reproach, "_That_ is how you wake up a lover."

Matthew wasn't laughing then, but he still didn't appear angry. He merely blushed a bit and fetched his bag.

"I'll…umm…g-give you two some privacy then. I'm going to get breakfast." Then, just because he could, he turned back to Francis with a mysterious smile. "Oh, and don't worry, Francis. The secret you told me last night is safe. I won't tell anyone, Arthur and Alfred included."

After he left, Francis screwed up his brow in thought. "Secret? I have no idea what he is talking about," he said. Arthur flopped angrily onto the edge of his bed, working himself up into a good sulk.

"This whole situation is rubbish," he complained. "And you shouldn't kiss someone until you've properly brushed your teeth. That was just gross, Francis," Arthur scolded. Francis rolled his eyes, pulling the covers back up over his head.

"Wake me up when this nightmare is over," he groaned. Arthur snorted unhappily.

"It's not a nightmare—it's our new life as a happy couple. We _will_ be happy. You've already screwed up my first kiss. The least you can do now is be a decent first boyfriend," Arthur grumbled. He couldn't be sure, but he got the distinct impression Francis was mocking him under the covers. He punched him, just in case.

"Ouch!" Francis whined.

"Don't mock me," he said primly. Francis remained silent. Arthur frowned. "Don't ignore me either! Aren't you going to walk with me to breakfast? That _is_ what a boyfriend should do."

"Matthew brings me breakfast in bed on the weekends," he replied. Arthur snorted again, this time in amusement.

"Too bad you're not dating Matthew anymore. Get your lazy ass up, frog. I want breakfast."

"It is _too_ early. Can't you go eat with Alfred?" Francis complained. Arthur's scowl deepened.

"His mother is here now. I don't like her."

"Of course you don't," Francis replied, in a smart ass tone.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he snapped. Francis grinned, and Arthur could practically _hear_ the expression in his voice when he replied.

"Isn't it obvious? You do not want her moving in on your turf," Francis said. Arthur smiled sweetly, as if the joke hadn't offended him at all. He stood up calmly, and walked to the restroom. Feeling victorious now that he'd _finally _been left alone, Francis curled up with his pillow once more, relaxing into the soft warmth.

_Splash!_

Francis struggled out of his sheets swearing hotly in French, the ice-cold water dripping down his hair and face, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms and chest.

"You little shit!" he roared, lunging blindly out of bed and wielding his wet pillow as a weapon, swinging with all his might at Arthur's agile form.

"Next time I tell you to get out of bed, I _mean_ it! You might as well get used to the idea now—I'm wearing the pants in this relationship," Arthur declared. Wet and shivering, Francis scowled, realizing he'd been defeated for the moment. Arthur smirked at him smugly.

"_You_ are the worst boyfriend I have ever had," Francis said. Arthur flashed him another sweet smile.

"Aww, poppet, I love you, too. Now put on some bloody clothes. Those knickers you have on are practically indecent. Are they even men's underwear?" Arthur asked.

From outside the door, Matthew suppressed another giggle and shook his head. He didn't know why he suddenly found the whole situation so humorous instead of heartbreaking, but he just couldn't help it. Francis and Arthur together, in a relationship, was just about the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard or seen. It would be a Christmas miracle if they survived the winter break without killing each other, much less with their relationship intact.

As he walked towards the cafeteria, humming a little tune, Matthew considered it in a new light.

'_Maybe it's a good thing for us to take a break and see other people. I mean, if Francis wasn't the only person I've ever dated, I wouldn't feel so insecure with him all the time. He's been with so many people before me that I can't help but feel inadequate,'_ Matthew thought. He frowned a bit sadly, but his good mood still didn't falter. In the light of a new morning, he suddenly felt that a little time apart was just what he and Francis needed.

**A/N:** lol, I'm having so much fun with Francis and Arthur in this chapter and the last one. Those two are such crazy fun characters. I'm glad the focus finally shifted a little off Alfred and Matthew and these two finally get their chance to take center stage, even if it's only for some laughs. I tried writing them all serious and angsty—it was even in the outline—but I just couldn't do it in the end. Plus, this is probably a little more realistic. It always goes that you think a situation is just gonna go absolutely crazy, and then nothing really happens how you expect it will, and all the tension and drama just kind of fizzles out.

I hope drunk!Arthur was worth the wait. XD


	17. Christmas Gifts

Chapter 17

Alfred beamed proudly at all of his classmates who stopped to speak to his mother, most of the guys with awe on their faces and the girls with avid interest. As a kid, Alfred had always been proud of his parents. In a way, he almost mooched off their success, and delighted when some bratty kid that had snubbed him met his parents only to be shocked into silence. Of course, Alfred knew first hand that they were not the easiest people to love. His mother was not a warm, soft type of person, and his father was a ruthless competitor, but they had little ways of showing him they cared. Perhaps ironically, their deficiencies in character were Alfred's strengths. He had a huge heart and a warm, energetic sincerity that he brought to each and every relationship. In this way, Alfred balanced out his parents' defects just as they balanced out his.

"I intend to speak to the principal about this custodial duty he has you on," Helen announced, as they walked down the hallway at a brisk clip.

"Please don't. It's already settled. I deserved the punishment, and I'm doing it. It's not a big deal," Alfred said. His mother sneered, but even with such an ugly expression on her face, she still looked beautiful.

"It was a result of hazing, which shouldn't be practiced in the school to begin with—much less endorsed, as it seems to be here. You just keep quiet and let me handle it, Alfred," his mother replied crisply. Alfred sighed, but knew it was pointless to argue further. Once his mother had made up her mind about something, trying to change it was like attempting to jump in front of a moving train and push it in the other direction.

He tagged along behind her, smiling weakly at the few people who were able to overcome their shock quickly enough to wave or say hello as they breezed down the hallway. They passed the cafeteria, and Alfred's stomach grumbled.

"Do I have to go with you, Mom? Can I go eat breakfast?" he asked. His mother considered it and then waved him off.

"Fine. You're impossible if you're hungry. Eat up, though. We likely won't have time for lunch today," she said. Relieved, Alfred left his mother to her quest and doubled back towards the cafeteria. He was surprised to see Matthew coming from the opposite direction. As soon as he saw him, he waved happily and jogged to his side.

"Is that your mother?" Matthew asked, his tone one of surprise. Alfred nodded.

"Yep, she got in first thing this morning. Man, are you exhausted? I only got a few hours of sleep before she was knocking on the door, and I feel like a total zombie," Alfred said, punctuating his statement with a yawn. Matthew looked a little tired, too.

"Yeah, Francis gets a little talkative when he's drunk sometimes. He didn't stop rambling till nearly three in the morning."

"Anything funny?" Alfred asked, as they entered the lunch line. Matthew smiled.

"A lot of it was very personal, so I won't go into details, but he talked about his family…and about me. We never really talked after the kiss, you know. He was so hurt and jealous that he didn't want me to just explain it all away."

"You sound a lot better about it all, though," Alfred said hopefully. Matthew flashed him a tired smile.

"I've been crying for days. I guess I'm just all out of tears. Besides…this sham of a relationship he's got going with Arthur is just about the funniest thing I've ever seen." At the reminder, Alfred grabbed an apple with way more force than necessary, nearly bruising it.

"Glad _you_ find it so amusing. It is completely obvious that Francis doesn't give a crap about Arthur's feelings. Why would Arthur want to have his first relationship with someone who's just looking for a rebound?" Alfred asked.

"Because he thinks he can't have you?" Matthew suggested lightly. Alfred frowned, and grabbed roughly twenty slices of bacon, as well as two hash browns and a scone. Matthew only had a small bowl of oatmeal, which Alfred knew would soon be soaked with maple syrup.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Alfred replied, sounding a little petulant. Matthew shot him a look.

"Don't play dumb, Alfred. You _know_ he cares for you more than he lets on—probably much more, in fact."

Alfred shrugged his broadening shoulders. "Maybe," he said noncommittally. Matthew rummaged around for a cold bottle of juice and placed it on his tray, still dripping ice water. Alfred snagged three bottles of chocolate milk.

"So you don't return his feelings? Not even a little bit?" Matthew prodded. Alfred blushed, and tore at the label on one of his milk bottles. The line inched forward at a crawl.

"Of course I like him—he's my best friend. I've thought about it, too, even dreamed about it a few times…but there's a difference between _thinking_ about something and _doing_ something, ya know?" Alfred said.

"You didn't seem to have any problems kissing me," Matthew reminded gently. Alfred's frown deepened.

"I've been reading up on it. Back in the states, there are camps kids can go to who are confused about all of this stuff. They say they can make you straight. I wanna go, but I don't want my mom and dad to find out. I haven't quite figured out how to manage it yet."

Matthew froze in line, staring in surprise at his friend. Alfred shifted his eyes away uncomfortably.

"What? Stop looking at me like that. Can you honestly say that if someone could magically make you not be gay anymore, that you wouldn't be tempted? It would make _everything_ easier for you," Alfred said. "No more bullying, no more being a joke, no more people you don't even know hating you. You could be popular, and happy, and you'd never have to think about all this crap_,_" Alfred added. After a moment longer, Matthew turned his eyes to his tray, his reply soft yet strong when he finally found words.

"If I wasn't myself, I'd have never met you and become such good friends," Matthew paused, his lips twisting into a sad smile. "I would have never met Francis. What kind of person would I be without the memory of our first kiss in my heart? Arthur likes you, maybe even loves you, and I think you might love him, too. You can walk away from that, but you'd be ignoring a heart that's never steered you wrong before. Maybe, before you try to change yourself, you should try _being_ yourself first? You never know—you might like who you are just as much as I do," Matthew said with a little grin.

Alfred was still frowning, but there was a thoughtful look in his eyes that had not been there before. Matthew could only hope something he'd said had rang true for his confused friend. At least, Matthew hoped for Arthur's sake that it had.

USUK

After breakfast, with Matthew's words still bouncing around in his head, Alfred tracked down Arthur and found him in the library, returning all the books he'd borrowed the previous week. He had a stack of new ones to read over the vacation.

"Alfred! I'm surprised to see you. I thought you'd be with your mum all day," Arthur said. Alfred shrugged.

"She's on a tour of the school with the Headmaster, likely. I wanted to see you before you left for home, so I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Oh…well…here I am," Arthur said, a bit awkwardly. His expression morphed into a prim frown. "I meant to tell you I'm terribly sorry about your suit and sheets. It can't have been easy lugging me back to the dorm last night. Err…and I'm sorry for my poor manners this morning when your mother arrived."

"I pantsed you in front of your grandmother. So what if you peed in front of my mom with the door open? I'd say we're probably even," Alfred joked. Gathering his books into his arms, Arthur blushed.

"I suppose so," Arthur said. Alfred glanced briefly at the librarian, who seemed to be ignoring them rather determinedly. Arthur came a little closer, his green eyes curious.

"You're acting kind of strange, Alfred. Is it because of last night?" Arthur asked, his cheeks flushing a bit with color.

"Maybe," Alfred said quietly. He bit nervously on the corner of his lip, as if there was something he needed to say, but he just wasn't quite sure how to say it.

"You know…I never got a chance to give you your Christmas gift," Arthur said. Alfred's eyes widened in surprise.

"You got me something?" Arthur smiled at Alfred's boyish enthusiasm.

"It's not much. I made it, actually." Arthur set his books down on a nearby table and opened his book bag, producing a soft looking knitted hat. It was a pretty shade of blue, with a fuzzy ball on the top. Still blushing, he pushed it into Alfred's hands.

"I'm sure you'll practice loads over the vacation, and I thought this might keep your ears warm in all that snow they're saying we'll get."

For a long moment, Alfred held the hat in his hands, running his fingers over the perfect little rows of knotted yarn. Blushing even more, Arthur added, "It matches your eyes. When I saw the color, I thought of you." Alfred stared at him intensely, something in his blue-eyed gaze that Arthur had never seen before.

"Arthur…I know you've probably messed around with Francis, and you might even go further over the break, but don't give him your heart, okay? Save that for someone who really loves you."

Arthur could only nod, though it hurt him very much to hear such words from the very boy he wished he could entrust with his love.

"What if that someone never comes?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. Alfred shoved a hand in the pocket of his too-big rugby jacket, a bashful, utterly endearing smile on his face. He turned to look out the windows, watching the flurries of snow stick to the warm glass and melt silently away.

"Don't worry about that. The hero always comes in the end," Alfred said, slowly meeting Arthur's eyes with his own amused blue ones. Arthur gave the taller boy a fond smile before collecting his books once more.

"I'll keep my heart safe for him until he does, then, only if you're so certain he'll come," Arthur said. As he passed Alfred, the other boy caught his hand for the briefest of seconds, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm really scared, but I'm going to figure this out, okay?" Alfred whispered. Arthur returned the pressure on his hand, gently entwining their fingers for the briefest of moments, and gave his best friend a bright smile.

"You're the bravest person I know, and also the most reckless. It's too cold out there to go without a hat and coat. _Do_ try to take care of yourself while I'm not here to nag, won't you?"

Alfred gave him a grateful nod and let go of his hand. "Have a fun holiday, Arthur."

Their eyes still drawn to each other's like magnets, Arthur smiled once more. "You too, Alfred, and Happy Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Alfred replied softly. Outside the windows, the flurries settled in the branches of the trees, and in the nooks and crannies of the old buildings, gentle and quiet as they blanketed the world in white.

'_It's going to be a very good Christmas this year,'_ Alfred thought with a smile. His hat felt warm against his ears, and his hand tingled pleasantly where Arthur's hand had been. He couldn't say what was different, only that his heart felt a little like a bird that had finally been set free from a very small cage.

**A/N: **This is a super short chapter, and I apologize for that, but I didn't think this fit with the previous chapter, and I didn't want it tacked onto the beginning of the next, so here it is—just a little scene before all the boys go their separate ways for two weeks. This might be the last update from me for a week or so. Apparently, I have to do work before they'll pay me.

Oh, and I got some really helpful reviews with stuff about suggestions about how I'm portraying Ivan and Yao, and I think you'll better understand where I'm going with them after the holidays. I know they haven't seemed to really be part of the main story, but that will change soon, and their side plot won't seem so random.


	18. Couple Confusion

Chapter 18

Ivan stared distrustfully at the huge swarm of people in the Beijing airport. Even though he was only sixteen (though he'd be seventeen at the end of the month) he literally towered over everyone around them.

"At least I do not have to worry about losing you," Yao said with a small grin.

"And it will make others more likely to notice you—_that_ is not a good thing," Ivan said. Already, his pale violet eyes scanned the airport as if expecting an ambush. Yao wanted to laugh at his paranoia, but considering how frightened and nervous his father had sounded during their last phone call, Yao realized Ivan's protectiveness might just be justified.

It was equally easy to spot Ivan's bodyguard/uncle. The hulking Russian man emerged from a shadowy hallway with a simple black bag in hand. The Chinese gave him a wide berth, and Ivan's uncle seemed to enjoy the worried looks he was inspiring. Ivan smiled at his uncle and Yao felt himself tugged forward, protectively tucked under Ivan's arm. Ivan and his uncle greeted each other in Russian, and gestured to him a few times. After a few moments, Ivan translated to English.

"This is the uncle I have told you so much about. Zakhar, meet Yao Wang. Yao, meet Zakhar."

Yao stumbled a bit over the foreign name, but inclined his head politely at the _huge_ man. He wondered if Ivan would ever match his height and muscle mass. Zakhar said something deep and guttural sounding to Ivan, who promptly translated.

"He has a car waiting. We need to get you out of the open," Ivan said. Yao nodded, though he was unaccustomed to such security measures. Though his father had always been wealthy, he had never had such dangerous enemies before. There was a sizeable amount of money out on Yao's head, which was a fact almost too distressing to process. Perhaps noticing his worried expression, Ivan gave his shoulders another quick squeeze, and leaned down to speak to him quietly.

"You are mine. No one will hurt what is mine, da?" Yao flashed him a tight smile, somewhat reassured.

Despite initially thinking the Russians would stand out horribly, they actually had concealed themselves quite well in the bustle of the airport. As they progressed along, more and more of them seemed to crawl out of the woodwork. Soon, three terrifying looking men in dark suits trailed after them. Zakhar was the most dangerous looking one of all, and he walked directly in front of them.

"Your father has come through on his end of the deal. His men are everywhere," Yao exclaimed in pleased surprise. He felt incredibly safe, as if the feared Triads couldn't possibly pose any sort of threat now—not to his family, and certainly not to himself.

Finally, as they emerged from the airport, Yao spotted one of his father's men, his childhood tutor. He had worked for his father for many years, and he smiled sadly upon seeing Yao. He was accompanied by a burly Russian as well, and seemed less than thrilled with the arrangements. He greeted Yao with an admonishment in rapid Chinese.

"You should have stayed at your school. This is beyond dangerous. I do not care if the entire Russian mafia is here—it is not enough to guarantee the safety of your father's oldest son."

"Hello _lǎo shī_," Yao replied in English, for Ivan's sake. He introduced the older boy. "Ivan, this is my family's tutor, Gao Jian," Yao said. Ivan inclined his head and briefly shook the shorter man's hand. In shaky Chinese, he offered a greeting that seemed to surprise and impress the older man. Yao smiled proudly at Ivan's attempt. Further talk was saved for once they were inside the car.

"Some men remained at the airport. I take it your brother has not arrived?" Ivan asked. Yao shook his head. The middle child, his brother Xiao, was studying in Hong Kong, and was also expected in Beijing for the holidays.

"Did your flight go well?" Gao asked in heavily accented English. Ivan nodded with a smile and Yao shrugged his shoulders.

"I am ready to be home. I feel like I have not had a decent meal since I left," Yao complained. Gao continued to speak in English, though Ivan could barely understand him.

"Your mother is very excited for your return. She has cooked a feast," he said. Yao grinned happily in anticipation, and flashed Ivan an excited look.

"Now you can taste _real_ Chinese cuisine. It is far superior to British food," Yao said. His old tutor smiled, and Zakhar coughed none-too-subtly. Ivan hastily translated what had so far been said into Russian. Ivan wondered how quickly his father's men would pick up Chinese living in Beijing—according to all negotiations currently in effect, it would be a long visit for many of them. It was likely that some would not be able to return to Russia at all, and China would be their new home. Yao felt proud of negotiating such a strong alliance, and securing professional and dangerous protectors for the people he loved most. Disinterested in their mundane topic, Zakhar leaned towards Gao's bodyguard and began conversing quietly in Russian. Ivan half listened to their conversation (which was vaguely referencing some Chinese prostitutes they had found) and Yao's conversation with his old tutor (which was most definitely _not_ about Chinese prostitution), which alternated between slowly spoken, formal English and rapidly spoken bouts of Chinese.

Ivan was not accustomed to so many people talking around him at once, and was content to let the conversation drift over him until the Triads were mentioned by the old tutor. He perked up noticeably, his eyes narrowing. The tutor seemed a little alarmed by his sudden switch from daydreaming to glaring, and began to stutter slightly. Yao placed a calming hand on his knee, and Ivan tried to relax somewhat. It was hard, though, knowing that they were driving to a home that had been vandalized several times now by Triads—bloody and threatening messages left in their wake.

But Yao's father had not caved to their pressure, and he refused to let them take over his control of the trading district where the lower class citizens bought their goods and lived in tiny apartments. While it was not a glamorous lifestyle, until the threat of the Triads, it had been fairly safe. Now the neighborhoods were dangerous, tenants were looking to move, and businesses were feeling the pressure from Triad members seeking a cut of their profits.

"The situation is rapidly improving. With the Russians in town, the Triads are not so quick to make threats. Your house is under guard constantly, as are your father's more important businesses. The Russians patrol the neighborhood, doing what the police _should_ have done months ago, and bloody up the Triads if they find them causing trouble," the tutor explained. Yao smiled in satisfaction. It had not been easy to organize, but Yao and Ivan had served as the primary negotiators, and their efforts appeared to be succeeding admirably.

"I am glad to hear all is going according to plan," Yao said. His tutor nodded, and glanced uneasily at his own personal bodyguard. He was leaning towards Zakhar, making a rather rude looking hand gesture and grinning a bit psychotically. Gao switched back to Chinese.

"As long as we provide cheap alcohol and easy access to women, they seem happy enough, but they are rather unrefined, and they make me very uneasy," Gao confessed. Yao frowned slightly, and Ivan caught the expression. He arched a curious, platinum blond brow. Yao hesitated a moment and then translated into English.

"Everyone is still adjusting to the presence of your father's men. There are bound to be some cultural differences," Yao said. Ivan smirked.

"We know how to handle cultural differences, da?" Ivan said in a tone that was simultaneously playful and lewd. Yao blushed, and his tutor glanced knowingly between them. Ivan's uncle and fellow mafia brother lapsed into silence, as if curious about what had been said to provoke such a reaction.

Yao tried to control his blush and wondered how the two of them were possibly going to survive the holidays without totally coming out of the closet. As if Triads and family members weren't stressful enough, now they would have to carefully watch their words and actions for fear of their rather…_intimate_…alliance being discovered.

USUK

Alfred flipped open his cell phone as another text message from Ivan appeared in his inbox.

"Arthur texting you already?" Matthew asked with a smile. The last of the students leaving for the holidays had left campus just a few hours before, and Alfred's mother had retired to her hotel for the evening.

"No, it's from Ivan. He says they got to Beijing alright, but he seems really worried about Yao. I don't care if he denies it—_something_ is going on between them. There's no way that they're just friends," Alfred said. He and Matthew were currently lounging in Matthew's room, with a big stack of blank paper and a box of art supplies between them. Alfred was idly sketching as Matthew played a game on his phone.

"They're _totally_ sleeping with each other," Matthew said. Alfred glanced up from the reply that he was typing to Ivan.

"How can you tell?" he asked. Matthew grinned mischievously.

"I have first period with Yao. This past week or so, he's been having a little trouble sitting comfortably in his seat…if you catch my drift," Matthew said. Alfred blinked innocently.

"What does a hard chair have to do with him and Ivan?" Alfred asked. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"His butt hurts? You can't think of why that might be?" Matthew said, his cheeks turning pink. Alfred resembled a hoot owl as his eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh!" he said. Matthew shook his head, perhaps in disbelief of Alfred's naivety.

"Yeah…and I seriously doubt that's what their fathers wanted them to 'discuss.' It's all kind of shady if you ask me. Probably best to just stay out of it," Matthew advised. Alfred erased part of his drawing, and read a return message from Ivan that made him snicker. He didn't share what the Russian had said, but he sent him another text.

"So…you're gay. Would you go for Ivan?" Alfred asked curiously. Matthew rapidly shook his head.

"Nu-uh! I know you guys are kind of close, but he can be seriously creepy! I don't really understand what anyone would see in him as a boyfriend."

The superhero Alfred was drawing began to take a more defined shape, and Alfred seemed to enjoy fleshing out the rippling muscles of his chest under a skintight costume.

"There's plenty to like about Ivan. He's built, for one. You think he's just husky because he's always got on so many clothes, but I've seen him with his shirt off and—" 

"Wait. When did you see him with his shirt off?" Matthew asked.

"He trains with me. He's competitive, and he'd be awesome if they'd let him on a team, but his behavior last year ruined his chances to try out."

"So you guys work out together?" Matthew asked. He'd always wondered how Alfred and Ivan spent their time, but it made sense that it was something "manly." Despite his sweet nature, Alfred was sometimes overbearingly competitive. Arthur would frequently complain that he had to periodically stop playing their online shooting game because Alfred was taking it too seriously. Ivan, however, relished Alfred's company when the other boy was all worked up.

"Yeah. He knows a lot about weight lifting, but I can outrun him. I'd swap bodies with him in a heartbeat. I'm gonna catch up to him, though. I read about it on Wikipedia."

"Read about what?" Matthew asked, trying not to laugh.

"You know—puberty and stuff. I just haven't hit my muscle growth phase yet. I've got some hair coming in though. I'm totally gonna grow a mustache this year."

"That'll be…interesting," Matthew said, trying not to offend. It was obvious Alfred was being very serious. Matthew bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling.

"Francis is so lucky. He could grow a beard. I wonder if that's why Arthur's got the hots for him?" Alfred mused. Matthew's brows shot up in surprise.

"Arthur has the hots for Francis?"

"He's mentioned his hair before—kind of in a jealous, pissy sort of way—and he's said he really likes blue eyes."

"What about you? What do _you_ like about guys?" Matthew asked, refraining from pointing out the obvious fact that Alfred _also_ had very blue eyes. Alfred shrugged a bit uncomfortably, suddenly focusing intently on his drawing.

"Promise you won't tell Arthur? My answer might hurt his feelings a bit…if he really does like me as much as you seem to think," he said after a moment. Extremely curious, Matthew readily agreed to Alfred's condition. "I've thought about a lot of guys in school…but I probably think about Ivan the most. Well, it's a toss-up between Ivan and Berwald. But ever since I saw Berwald propose to his roommate, I've felt a little bad about…you know…thinking about him."

Matthew was a little surprised, and a little disappointed that Alfred wasn't super-attracted to Arthur. He found himself arguing for the prince's case.

"But Arthur has his own appeal. He's got gorgeous green eyes, and nice skin. I admit, he's a little on the short side…and those eyebrows are a bit…erm…_defining_…but he's…he's…"

"Arthur's _pretty_. So is Francis. Hell, so are _you_. Haven't you ever wanted to just…I dunno…get in a wrestling match with some really strong, muscular guy, and then it gets all…and you're all…and it's just really hard and sweaty and tough and…I'm guessing by the look on your face that's a no?" Alfred said with a bit of a grin. Matthew couldn't help it. He finally started chuckling.

"Let me get this straight. You fantasize about _wrestling_ with some burly guy like Ivan and then having rough sex?"

"Not like…all the time. I saw how you and Francis were—all the cuddling, and the hand-holding. I'd like to do those things with Arthur—I mean, a guy _like_ Arthur—and I don't picture myself dating a guy like Ivan…but I would _really_ like to…err…wrestle with him."

"I _think_ I get what you're saying…I guess I'm just lucky in the fact that the kind of guy I'm attracted to and the kind of guy I want to date are the same person. It's like that game where you have to pick, out of all the people you know, the person you'd marry, the person you'd go on a date with, and the person you'd have a one night stand with. I'd marry Francis, I'd date…well…let's just not go _there_… and I'd have a one night stand with Gilbert. I don't like his baggy pants, and he's obviously going nowhere in life…but his whole bad-boy act is kind of hot—only sometimes, though. Most of the time, though, I really just want to smack him," Matthew said with a smile.

"Gilbert? Seriously? He calls you butt muncher. Wanting to sleep with _him_ is totally weirder than my wrestling fantasy. Anyways…I'd marry Arthur, I'd date you, and I'd totally have a one-night stand with Ivan…but only if I won and got to be on top. Man…I can't believe I just said that. I'm gonna go back to my drawing now. I'd like to pretend that whole conversation never happened," Alfred said, a bright flush darkening his cheeks. His phone buzzed again, and Matthew snickered.

"Better hurry and check your text from your _wrestling_ buddy," Matthew said. Alfred hurled a pillow playfully at his friend, but flipped open his phone with a hint of eagerness Matthew had never noticed before. Matthew smiled and added, "But, yeah, I'd date you, too. Francis would probably never forgive me, and he'd claim I loved you more than him, but I've thought about it once or twice since we kissed. I mean, Francis is a much better kisser, but for your _first_ kiss with a guy…it was pretty impressive. You certainly went for it. My first kiss was just a peck."

Alfred glanced up at him, almost shyly. He toyed with his phone in his hands, biting on the corner of his lip.

"Would you…ever want to do it again? I mean, I know you love Francis…and I'm not really sure what's going on with me…but it could be fun. Just to waste some time," Alfred said, feigning casualty. "And you could give me some pointers, you know, since you've done it more than me."

"I'm pretty sure Francis is trying his damned hardest to get into Arthur's pants right about now…so why not? I could give you some…err…tutoring?" Matthew proposed. He smiled a little naughtily. "It's probably not as fun as _wrestling_, of course, but tutoring can be _very_ beneficial."

Alfred had set his drawing aside and steadily moved closer to Matthew during his response, still biting nervously on his lower lip.

"Before I decide if I don't want to be gay, I should at least give it a fair shot," Alfred explained, his blue eyes fixed hungrily on Matthew's lips. His friend smiled encouragingly and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips gently to Alfred's, his eyes fluttering shut.

Alfred, however, seemed to have only one setting when it came to matters of romance, and that setting was full speed ahead. Matthew let out a little 'oomph' of surprise as the over-energetic boy pushed him backwards to the bed, pressing wet kisses all down his jaw, and making Matthew feel a bit like he'd been tackled by a large, over-enthusiastic puppy.

"Err…Alfred…a little less slobber, please!" Matthew said. There was really no other word for it. Alfred pulled back for a just a second, blinked rather innocently, and then nodded with adorable earnestness. He went back to his task using less of his tongue and more of his lips.

"Mmm…that's better. Oh! Um…not up my shirt," Matthew said, modestly pulling his shirt down, blocking off Alfred's wandering hands. Any further advice or instruction Matthew might have given was delayed, as Alfred returned eagerly to his mouth. Once again, he came on a little too strongly, and Matthew pushed lightly on his shoulders.

"Am I doing it wrong?" Alfred asked.

"No, just slow it down some. It's not a race," Matthew advised. This bit of wisdom seemed to fall on deaf ears, though, as Alfred delved back in with just as much excitement and enthusiasm as before. In fact, speaking of excitement…

This time, Matthew pushed him rather forcefully.

"Okay, this is getting a little weird," he said, indicating with a glance downwards that Alfred was tenting his pants. Alfred tried to conceal it, blushing hotly.

"I'm sorry! It's not you…well, I mean…it's _kinda_ you, but it happens, like, _all_ the time now. Yesterday, I was just _talking_ to Arthur in the library—that's _all_—and I kinda squeezed his hand before he left, and it was one of those really nice moments, ya know? And then _bam_. All the sudden, the librarian is glaring at me and I had to carry a big dictionary in front of my junk until I could duck behind a shelf and think about Professor Simmons doing the chicken dance naked. Thank god Arthur didn't notice as he was leaving."

For a long moment, Matthew simply stared…then he burst out laughing.

"Shut up, Mattie! It's totally not funny! I can't help it if like, _everything_ turns me on!"

When Matthew finally regained control of himself, he shoved Alfred towards the door.

"On second thought, I think it's always just going to be a little weird between you and me. Sorry I can't help you out with the kissing thing, but you should probably go back to your own room and…you know. Take care of _that_."

"Aww, but Mattie!"

"Try the pouting on Arthur the next time he touches your hand and you get a stiffy. I've noticed he doesn't seem to have much of a defense against those blue eyes of yours. That's probably the only advice I can give you. You'll just have to figure the rest out on your own."

Ignoring Alfred's amusing protests, Matthew firmly shut his door…and promptly giggled.

'_Poor Arthur. He's going to have his hands full with that one,'_ Matthew thought. Absently, his eyes fell on Alfred's phone, currently buzzing half-hidden in his sheets. He retrieved it, and flipped it open curiously. The text from Ivan opened automatically.

_**What Yao doesn't know won't hurt him.**_

His eyebrows shooting up in surprise, Matthew hastily opened Alfred's sent messages, quickly scanning them. He just couldn't resist! The first had been from Alfred:

_**Having fun with Yao?**_

Ivan's reply was a little vague:

_**This place is dangerous for him, but I am here. He'll be fine. Why are you asking? **_

Alfred's reply was _definitely_ flirtatious (or at least Alfred's version of flirty):

_**Mattie and I are talking about you, that's all. I was telling him you're pretty built, but that I'm totally gonna be stronger than you.**_

Ivan, perhaps very aware that Alfred had a thing for him, had no trouble picking up on it:

_**Don't get too jealous of Yao. We just like mixing our business with our pleasure. I haven't forgotten about you. In fact, I might think about you some tonight. **_

Matthew blushed, and clicked back hurriedly to see Alfred's response to _that_. Sure enough, it had been the statement that provoked the initial text Matthew had accidentally read:

_**What about Yao?**_

Matthew hurriedly snapped the phone closed, somehow feeling like he should warn Arthur that Alfred and Ivan's friendship was tip-toeing into dangerous territory. Matthew's feelings were _almost_ a little hurt that he apparently wasn't the only friend Alfred was cozying up to, but then he realized he didn't really care all that much.

He _did_ feel a little bad for Arthur, though. Arthur would certainly care about what Alfred had been instigating with his friends. Matthew frowned, however, as another thought occurred to him, _'Arthur is currently making out with _my_ boyfriend. What do I care if the boy he likes is crushing on other people? It's not like they're dating, and it's none of my business anyway. If I want to stay friends with everyone, I really just need to stay out of it…and if I ever want Francis back, I _really_ need to stop kissing Alfred.'_

With this resolution firmly in mind, Matthew marked the new message as unread, and tossed the phone back on his bed. Alfred would no doubt return for it later.

USUK

Arriving home had been a rather loud affair. With awful timing, his three older brothers had arrived home nearly at the same time Arthur and Francis had pulled up. Not to mention, Arthur's oldest brothers, Colin and Dylan, were both married. Although Arthur's family home was large, when faced with the simultaneous arrival of seven people, all carrying baggage and Christmas presents, it suddenly felt very small.

"There you are squirt! How's it going at old World Academy?" Patrick asked, roughly musing Arthur's hair. The short prince glared in annoyance at his red-headed brother. Patrick was the family odd-ball in the looks department. With a brunette mother and a blond father, the best anyone could guess was that Patrick inherited his red hair from a grandparent.

"Fine," Arthur said, trying to dodge his brother's rough housing. Francis also looked concerned by the prospect of the hyper red-head ruining his hairstyle, and merely smiled at him politely as he inched away.

"Francis! I am _so_ happy you've come!" Arthur's mother enthused. Despite not having seen her sons for quite awhile, she only had eyes for Francis. The French boy smiled graciously at her and returned her hug.

"How have you been?" Francis asked, real warmth in his voice. As his mother went about fussing over Francis, Arthur took a moment to give his father and his eldest brother, Colin, a hug in greeting.

"Still making good grades?" Colin asked. His wife, a very pretty girl that Colin had met during his own days at World Academy, also stepped forward to give Arthur a hug.

"Top marks," Arthur replied, though it came as no surprise to his family, who had always known him to be a studious book worm. Dylan worked his way through the crowd of family (and Francis) and greeted his youngest brother.

"I see you survived your first semester. Mum says you haven't even run home every weekend like we all thought you would," Dylan said. Out of all his brothers, Arthur had the most fights with Dylan. Patrick was rough and rowdy, but he never took much interest in Arthur when they'd all been growing up. He'd always been outside, playing and getting dirty, running the grounds from morning till dusk. Colin had been much older, but Dylan had been just old enough to be jealous of the way Arthur was babied, and bigger and stronger enough to do something about it when their parents weren't watching.

Apparently, Dylan's new wife shared Dylan's dislike of Arthur—she pointedly avoided greeting him. Of course, Arthur _had _been a bit rude to her the summer previous, when he'd found her to be boring company and clearly only after his brother's fame and wealth. The two of them had gotten married against their parents' wishes, as they were both fairly young still—just in their second year of university. All the tabloids suspected they'd be divorced before the end of the year, despite the flashy wedding they'd had.

Francis sidled up to him. "Your family gets larger and larger. Can we not slip away to your room?" Arthur nodded and they somehow managed to untangle their baggage from the massive pile and take the stairs up to Arthur's expansive rooms.

Upon entering, Francis flopped gracefully onto Arthur's bed.

"Your room hasn't changed a bit since you were six. Still nothing but dusty old books and that beloved tea set of yours," Francis remarked amusedly. "It's like my grandmother's room…except my grandmother has better taste."

"That is _quite_ enough. You needn't worry about my dusty books, as you'll be staying in your usual room, and you won't have much reason to be in here," Arthur said primly. Francis waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"But we are dating now, no? I may not care for the books, but I'm _very_ interested in your bed," Francis all but purred. Just as Arthur was beginning to get a little flustered, there was an energetic knock on the door.

"Oy, Francis, your mum just got here!" Patrick called as he passed. Francis sat up in surprise.

"My mother? What is _she_ doing here? She and my father were supposed to be travelling over the vacation."

"Well, you know them. Maybe they had a fight and she changed her plans?" Arthur mused. With an annoyed sigh, Francis dragged himself off the bed to go investigate. Already, they could hear the overjoyed, excited chatter of their mothers reuniting downstairs.

Grateful to have the room to himself for a moment, Arthur sunk into his favorite armchair near the window and flipped open his phone. No messages yet from Alfred. He wanted to text him, but he wanted Alfred to text him first. Of course, that was just silly, as they texted each other all the time and their exchange in the library certainly hadn't _changed_ anything…

'_But it feels different now…he's finally acknowledged that there's _something_ between us,'_ Arthur thought hopefully. He shot himself down quickly, though. _'No. He just warned me to be careful with Francis. That doesn't automatically mean he wants to be with me instead. All this love rot is utterly confusing!'_ Arthur griped silently. He hesitated a few moments and then pulled up an empty message box on his phone.

_**Hey. Just got home. Is it too early to come back? lol**_

There. That was simple and normal enough. That didn't imply that he had feelings for him, or that he was already missing him, or that he really wished he'd invited Alfred home with him instead of Francis. Almost instantly, his phone buzzed with a reply from Alfred.

_**This is Mattie. Al left his phone on my bed. He's showering right now.**_

Arthur blinked at the seemingly innocent message that made him seriously want to go straight back to World Academy. What had Alfred been doing on Matthew's bed? The rational part of Arthur knew they'd probably just been hanging out together there, and nothing had happened at all, but it certainly _sounded_ suggestive. Why would he need to shower afterwards if they'd just been sitting there, not-kissing?

This time, it was Colin who popped his head in the room and interrupted Arthur's fretful musings.

"Who's so important that you're ignoring your family to text? Dating someone so soon?" Colin asked teasingly. Arthur predictably blushed and snapped his phone closed. He'd have to get Francis's opinion on the text message later, when his brothers weren't so eager to make up for all the teasing he'd avoided by being at school in the previous months.

"It's nothing important. I just don't like all the chaos downstairs. I'll come down once everyone's settled in," Arthur said primly. Colin just gave him a fond smile and came further into his room, leaving his rolling suitcase by the door. Colin was fairly good-looking, the tallest in the family with a thick head of auburn hair. He'd gone to university in Scotland, where his wife's family was from. While he didn't sound totally Scottish, Arthur thought his accent had definitely changed a bit since he'd moved there. It was strange to think that the older brother who had helped him learn to tie his shoe laces and picked him up from kindergarten in his first car was now married and working, living far from home. It was almost to the point where Arthur only saw him around Christmas time.

"How has it really been at school? Are you doing okay? Making friends?" Colin asked. Arthur smiled a bit sadly at him, at the same time the thought crossed his mind that Colin would make a good dad some day.

"It's been good, truly. I like my roommate a lot," he said. Colin grinned knowingly.

"I know. Whenever I call mum and ask about how you're doing, she says all you talk about is Alfred-this and Alfred-that."

"Oh. I don't talk about him that much," Arthur said with a blush. "I might have _mentioned_ him…once or twice…"

"Well, I think it's great you've finally made some other friends your age. Nothing against Francis, but the two of you have always been a bit like oil and water."

"Heh…funny you should say that…" Arthur began. He was about to confess to Colin that he and Francis were dating, but he hadn't been able to continue. He had no idea why the urge to say it had suddenly overcome him so strongly, but he held his tongue at the last moment.

"Yeah?" Colin asked, encouraging Arthur to continue. He was distracted, however, by his wife calling for him down the hall. "We'll talk again later, okay, Arthur?" And Colin was out the door, leaving Arthur feeling flustered. He hadn't thought about telling his family what he'd learned about himself since going to World Academy, but now it seemed like a fairly obvious thing to do. Were the holidays a good time to do it, though? What if it made his mother and father upset? He didn't think it would, but he had no way of knowing. Dylan would most certainly be a twat about it. He wished he could tell everyone _except_ Dylan.

'_And I wish it was Alfred here meeting them all instead of Francis,'_ Arthur thought glumly. Somehow, even though Francis was smooth and always knew just what to say, Arthur would have rather had the sweet, never-faltering support of his best friend at his back.

"Arthur, honey! Come down stairs so Madeline can get a good look at you!" his mother called. With a sigh, Arthur headed back towards the stairs. He should have known better than to think he'd be able to sit around thinking things over in such a busy, noisy household. Maybe he could slip away a little later and give Alfred a call to hear his take on it all. Talking things out with Alfred usually helped him clear his head.

He was downstairs for nearly an hour listening to everyone talk after that. Francis's mother had indeed had a fight with her husband and had left him in the Alps, deciding instead to come visit her best friend and her son. Arthur eyed Francis and his mother a bit nervously all night. In the past, the two of them had been inseparably close, but growing up had lead Francis to discover things about his parents' relationship that made him question his long standing loyalty to his mother, and now he found himself estranged from his father and disappointed in his mother.

It was all rather messy, and not for the first time, Arthur thought Francis's parents should just hurry up and get divorced already, instead of dragging it out for years and tormenting Francis in the meantime. It made him incredibly grateful for his own parents, who'd always been sensible and loving with each other. They were rather boring, but at least they were stable and predictable.

Watching his mother and her friend was certainly interesting, though. It was true what they said about opposites attracting. Madeline was a pretty woman, though she swore everything from her toes to her eyebrows needed altering. She was naturally stylish, though prone to being a bit _too_ thin. She was reserved and a little shy with people she didn't know, but with her old friend, she was loud and expressive—just like Francis. By contrast, Arthur's mother was homely and rather plain looking. Her one feature of note was her rather pretty green eyes, which she'd given to both Patrick and Arthur. She was short, had always been a little plump, but her quiet, steady confidence had won her the heart of Arthur's father even though scores of glamorous women were always throwing themselves at him as a younger man.

He wondered if his own relationships would be as successful as that of his parents, and somehow doubted it. Already he was dating the wrong person, and he'd made a total mess of his first kiss. Distracted by his family, Arthur had forgotten all about the text he'd sent to Alfred until his phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open eagerly, off in his own little world.

_**Why do you want to come back? It's not bad at home, is it? Is Dylan being an ass?**_

Arthur smiled at how Alfred _knew_ his family without having ever met them. He'd opened up a lot to Alfred about his brothers and his parents, even without realizing he had. With a soft smile, Arthur replied:

_**He's warming up. I wish you'd come instead of Francis. His mum is here, though.**_

Arthur waited for Alfred's reply and re-read Matthew's suggestive message in the meantime. Finally, his phone buzzed.

_**My mom is making me get braces tomorrow. Lame!**_

Arthur winced, and was about to type something back about how ridiculous Alfred's mother was being, when his phone was snatched out of his hand.

"Let's see what's so interesting that Arthur hasn't said a word all night?" Dylan teased, scrolling easily to Arthur's inbox. Arthur reached for the phone ineffectually, but Dylan was already reading Alfred's messages…including the one about himself.

"Hey! What have you been telling your little boyfriend about me?" Dylan said, clearly genuinely angry now instead of just teasing. Their mother was trying to calm them both down—ordering Dylan to return the phone and chiding Arthur for talking poorly about his brother. It was no use, though. Dylan and Arthur were already scuffling, though Dylan clearly had the upper hand. Much to Arthur's annoyance, Francis was laughing at him, as he always had when Dylan teased him as a kid.

"Stop laughing, you arse! You _could_ help!" Arthur accused.

"Watch your language, Arthur," his father scolded. With his face trapped under Dylan's sweaty armpit, Arthur didn't give a crap about his language. _Finally_, Colin snatched the phone from Dylan and Patrick helped tug him free. Arthur's eldest brother handed him his phone back and then lightly cuffed Dylan on the back of the head.

"Ease up on him, Dylan. It's not your place to out him."

"Wait! What?" Arthur said, trying to regain his bearings. His mother cleared her throat nervously and tried to make an obvious topic change.

"No! We're not changing the subject! What was _that _supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded. Colin shifted uneasily, as if he were wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. His wife was glaring at him, and Dylan was snickering.

"Oh, come of it already, Arthur. Mum's been teasing you about this Alfred kid all semester. The whole bloody country saw those pictures of your little visit to grandmum," Dylan said. "Besides, we all _know_ your bent."

"So why didn't Alfred come? Of course, I'm thrilled Francis is here…but I was rather hoping to meet this boy of yours," his mother said with a nervous smile. Feeling ambushed, Arthur felt his cheeks turn a fiery red.

"I'm _not_ dating Alfred! You think you're all so smart—shows what you know! Francis and I have been dating for…for ages! So you can all shut the bloody hell up!" Arthur shouted, before storming out of the kitchen rather dramatically. Because of this, he missed the surprised and then elated looks on both Madeline and his mother's face.

Sitting between them, Francis looked absolutely horrified. It was too late for him to run, though.

"This is too good to be true! I'd always hoped…" Madeline started.

"I thought when Arthur was a boy we'd lost our chance for our kids to get married, but now they will and it's going to be just the _cutest_ thing!" Arthur's mother enthused happily. Nearby, Arthur's father merely looked resigned, as if he'd known all along his son would come out of the closet one day and had merely been waiting for it to happen. Colin laughed at his mother's antics.

"I think you're making Francis feel a bit smothered, mum. Let the poor lad go talk to Arthur. You know he's going to be a in right snit after all this. He'll probably be furious with me all week," Colin said. His wife shot him an irritated look.

"Colin, you really shouldn't have teased him like that. Arthur's a very sensitive boy," she said, only to be cut off by Dylan.

"And it's about time we stopped babying him. _We_ were never allowed to play with our phones during family time," Dylan said. His mother waved at him to hush.

"Arthur is different from you boys. He's never made friends as easily and he's so mature for his age. I've had to make exceptions for him. Now you stop giving him a hard time, do you hear me Dylan?" his mother demanded. Feeling a little overwhelmed, Francis left the room, ignoring all the questions and comments that trailed after him. Instead of going after Arthur, he lost himself in a random hallway (Arthur's home was a castle, after all) and pressed the speed dial for Matthew.

"_Hello?"_ Matthew answered. He sounded happy that Francis had called. Francis, in turn, was happy and calmed just by hearing his voice.

"Matthew, it was a terrible mistake to come here. You won't believe how Arthur has just made a mess of things. To make matters worse, my mother showed up without giving me any notice, and now she and Arthur's mother are downstairs planning the nursery for my and Arthur's first child."

"_Oh, wow! Um…that crazy, huh?" _Matthew said. Francis slid to the floor, the phone cradled against his jaw.

"I bet you're with Alfred now, aren't you?" he asked, not knowing why he had to purposefully pick a fight. Sure enough, Matthew sighed tellingly.

"_He left earlier, actually. I was just about to take a walk."_ Francis frowned.

"It's too late for you to go out walking alone, even if the campus is practically empty," Francis fretted. He could practically hear Matthew's amused smile. Matthew always loved when he fussed over him. It came quite naturally to Francis to do so, though he'd never cared what his romantic interests did in the past.

"_I'll be careful, I promise. I'm glad you called,"_ Matthew said, in his soft, lilting French. Francis closed his eyes, just letting the voice on the other end surround him, like a warm blanket.

"I think I was stupid for breaking up with you," Francis said. He frowned a bit at how pathetic he was being. Only one day away from Matthew and he was already caving like a house of cards. "But Arthur is so loud, and his family is tiresome, and my mother looks awful and I just wish I was with you now instead of here," Francis added. There was a long moment of quiet on the other end of the phone before Matthew replied.

"_I still think being apart for a bit will be good for us…but I do miss you, more than I can really say,"_ Matthew's soft voice said. Francis smiled, reveling in the comfort of slipping back into such easy familiarity with Matthew. The days that they had spent fighting had been horrible. Francis felt drained and tired of it all.

"How much do you miss me?" he asked, a little babyishly. Matthew was smiling when he replied, Francis could tell, because it always amused him when Francis pouted.

"_You know I love you, Francis. When you come back, can't we put all this behind us and go back to the way we were?" _Matthew asked. Francis smiled, finally ready to make amends, and let his jealousy of Alfred go. It was not worth losing Matthew over.

"I love you too, _mon cher_. I will tell Arthur we are done. I've been foolish, haven't I?" Francis asked. He delighted in the delicate laugh this statement earned from Matthew.

"_Just a little. I was at fault, too. I should never have kissed Alfred."_

"Then we are together again?" Francis asked. Matthew, however, was quiet for a long time on the other end of the line. Finally, he replied, crushing Francis's mood of happy elation.

"_Let's wait till we can talk face to face. You're having a bad afternoon and you're under a lot of stress. I just want us both to be sure we're doing the right thing,"_ Matthew said. Francis scowled into the phone.

"You just want to make me suffer for breaking up with you. You're punishing me," Francis accused. Matthew sighed.

"_Francis, don't be that way. This really isn't about you. I just want some time to be on my own—to think about things. So much has changed this year, and I just need some time to get my head wrapped around it all. I love you, though. I promise everything will work out okay once you're back at school. Just give me some space right now. You're always saying I don't talk to you…well, now I'm talking. I need a bit of a break, but I don't want it to be forever." _

Francis chewed delicately on his bottom lip, trying to understand _why_ Matthew would want to be with him and apart from him at the same time. Still, what the other boy said was true. Francis had accused him of not communicating, and now that he was, it would be hypocritical of him to dismiss Matthew's wishes simply because they didn't make any sense.

"Okay. I don't really understand, but I can wait till after vacation. I'll end things with Arthur. You're the only one I want, Matthew," Francis said softly. He hoped Matthew would make a similar statement about avoiding Alfred, and only wanting to be with him, but none came.

"_Okay. Try not to get too stressed, and be sensitive to Arthur. Coming out to his family couldn't have been easy, no matter how he acts about it," _Matthew said. _"Be a good friend to him now when he needs one and Alfred can't be there."_

A little annoyed that their conversation was ending, once again, on the subject of Alfred, Francis promised to take care of Arthur in Alfred's stead and hung up the phone.

Down a few hallways, Arthur had locked himself firmly in his room and called Alfred. As tears built up in his eyes and slid down his face, the phone rang and rang.

"Answer, Alfred!" Arthur begged. His friend's voice finally replied.

"_Hey!—"_

"Alfred! I'm so—"

"_Superman here. I can't get to my phone right now, 'cause I'm busy saving the world!" _Before the beep could cut in, Arthur's own voice echoed in the background of the recording, _"Alfred, you twit, leave a proper message so people aren't confused when they call you!" _And Alfred's amused voice continued, _"Fiiiiine. You've reached the phone of Alfred the Twit. The real reason I can't answer the phone is that I'm busy pestering Arthur. I'll call ya later! BEEP!"_

Alfred's obnoxious beep noise was followed by the actual beep. Arthur had forgotten all about Alfred's silly answering machine message, and it surprised him by how cheesy they sounded. Feeling a little better despite everything, he smiled through his tears.

"Hey Alfred. Give me a call when you get the chance, okay? Things got really weird at home and I—"

Arthur heard the beeping indicating someone was trying to call him. "Oh, bollocks, I think you're calling me right now." He clicked over, hoping to hear his friend's real voice.

"_Arthur? You call?" _

"Yeah, did I wake you?" He felt a little guilty as he heard a massive yawn on the other end.

"_Yeah, but no biggie. I'd barely fallen asleep. Are you okay? You sound upset."_

"It's just…Dylan read your text message—read quite a few of them, actually—and he started teasing me about it and he just practically outed me, and everyone's acting like it's no big deal, like they already knew, and I suppose I should be happy they aren't upset but it's still so bloody awkward and—"

"_Easy, easy, Arthur! You just came out. That's a pretty big deal. It's no wonder you're a little on edge, but its okay, right? Nobody's yelling at you, or giving you a hard time, are they?" _Alfred asked. Arthur sniffled a bit, trying to regain his composure.

"No…no, everything's alright _technically_…but they also know I'm dating Francis," Arthur said. Quite endearingly, Alfred huffed in annoyance.

"_You're not _really_ dating him. He's just being a dick to Matthew and you got in the crossfire."_

"We _are_ dating, Alfred," Arthur replied, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He could practically see Alfred rolling his eyes at him.

"_Fine, whatever you say. If you wanna count your fake boyfriend—"_

"He's not my fake boyfriend!" Arthur protested. Despite the topic actually being a little sensitive between them, Arthur could tell Alfred was arguing with him just to make him feel better…and it was slightly disturbing to realize it was actually working.

"_Okay, so your temporary make-out buddy until you get a _real_ boyfriend. I'll settle on that,"_ Alfred replied magnanimously. Arthur snorted.

"You're just jealous because I invited Francis instead of you," Arthur said with a smirk. His best friend (predictably) began to pout and whine.

"_Arthur, you have to say that you like me more than Francis. Say it or I won't let you hang up the phone," _Alfred sounded ridiculous, but it made Arthur laugh.

"And if I refuse to make such a ridiculous statement?" Arthur asked. Alfred laughed.

"_Then I guess you'll have to talk to me all night. Feeling any better?" _Alfred asked. Arthur realized he had stopped crying at some point and actually did feel perfectly relaxed. He got more comfortable in his armchair and watched the freshly fallen snow pile up on his windowpane.

"I do now. Thanks, Alfred," he said quietly. His best friend smiled, though Arthur couldn't see it, and prattled on expertly.

"_Oh, hey, I have a super funny story to tell you!"_ Arthur ignored the quiet knocking on his door and focused instead on Alfred's voice, just letting it soothe away his stress and worries. In the hallway, Francis lingered a few moments before deciding he would talk to Arthur about everything in the morning. It could wait until then.

**A/N: **An extra long chapter to make up for the extra short one last week. So I had fun with this chapter. There will probably be another few chapters about the break, as it's going to be a busy two weeks for everyone. But yeah, so finally a more vulnerable side to Arthur starting with his drunken neediness and now we see how sensitive he is around his family. I hope you liked this chapter, even though it had disturbing foreshadowing for some IvanXAlfred, lol. :P Oh, and I'm starting on the next chapter now, so you can expect it up later this evening. 

Colin – Scotland - 26

Dylan – Wales - 21

Patrick – Ireland - 19

Arthur – Britain - 15


	19. Matthew Goes Astray

Chapter 19

Before Arthur could go downstairs for breakfast, Francis waylaid him at the door.

"How are you?" he asked. Arthur was a little surprised, and blushed.

"Oh, err, I'm fine. Better, anyway, than I was last night."

"That's good to hear. This is unrelated, but I am breaking up with you," Francis said matter-of-factly. Arthur scowled.

"_What_?"

"I talked with Matthew last night, and we are going to patch things up. I cannot expect him to be my boyfriend again if I already have one."

"So…you're just dumping me? Just like that?" Arthur said. He would have said more, but Patrick came down the hall and ruffled his hair, despite Arthur's attempts to dodge.

"It's okay, Arty. I know it feels like torment to get dumped when you're fifteen, but you'll get over it in a week or two. Mum will be sad she'll have to stop the wedding plans, though," he joked, as if not even Arthur's own family took him and Francis seriously as a couple.

Arthur contemplated going right back into his bedroom and not coming out, but Francis just chuckled and threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on…now you are free to confess to your roommate, no?" Francis persuaded. Arthur scowled, shoving off his arm.

"So when you're pissed at Matthew, you want to date me to make him jealous, and when you want to date Matthew, you want me to date Alfred so that Matthew isn't chasing after him?" Arthur clarified. His old friend scowled petulantly and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I do _not_ care that much about Alfred. He is no threat to me at all," Francis insisted. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, frog. And you're an insensitive prat, by the way. First, you killed my unicorn, and now you dump me a week before Christmas, in front of my entire family," Arthur accused.

"Watch your tone. I could share something else with your family that would _really_ embarrass you," Francis provoked. Arthur scowled, but pushed him down the last three or four stairs just for good measure.

"You're bluffing!"

"I am not! Let us just say that I have a video…of a certain prince…while under the influence…"

"You _didn't_! I'm going to bloody kill you! It's on your phone, isn't it?" And Arthur came charging after him, fists swinging, trying to locate his phone in his pocket and failing to do so. They brawled their way into the sunroom, where breakfast was typically served. Their mothers instantly started squawking at them as they'd done when they were little boys, attempting to untangle them.

"What's the meaning of this?" Arthur's mother demanded. Arthur wormed around her and managed to pull rather harshly on a fistful of Francis's hair.

"He's an arsehole!"

"_He_ is just upset because I have dumped him," Francis said. He pretended to be more hurt than he was, and rubbed tenderly at his scalp. "He abuses me!" Francis's mother smiled, but babied her son anyway.

"I'll show you abuse, you bloody wanker!"

"Arthur! Watch your language!" His father chided, having just entered the breakfast room. He sat with his paper calmly, as if totally undisturbed by the scene Arthur and Francis were making. Of course, a similar scene played out nearly every time Francis visited, and nobody had really expected Arthur's revelation from the previous night to change anything. Colin and his wife were sharing amused smiles, and Patrick was already wolfing down his first plate of food obliviously.

"Urgh, let me go already!" Arthur whined. His mother had her arms wrapped lovingly around his shoulders, smiling against his unruly hair.

"Are you calm now, poppet?" she asked. Arthur glared at Francis (who was taking his seat across the table) and nodded. Arthur's mother kissed his temple and released him. Arthur sat with a huff, doing his best interpretation of a stormy, little black raincloud. His family (accustomed to this as well) merely continued with breakfast.

"So, tell us about who you are _really _dating at school," his mother said, a teasing little smile on her face. Dylan, who had just arrived, rolled his eyes.

"Urgh, do we have to hear about it at the breakfast table?" Dylan whined. His wife, who looked very traditional and uptight, sneered unpleasantly. Just to spite them, Arthur decided he felt talkative.

"Francis is in love with a boy from Canada named Matthew," Arthur ratted. Across the table, Francis blushed and scowled at him, clutching his butter knife rather tightly.

"Two can play that game. Arthur has a huge crush on Alfred Jones—who knows Arthur likes him and has not done anything about it all term, I might add. At least the boy I love is my boyfriend…or will be again, soon."

"Man, you kids are so weird. You're only freshman! Don't you have better things to do than date?" Patrick chimed in. There was a long moment of silence and then Arthur grumbled a response.

"I'm in the music and craft clubs," he said. "And I've been pretty busy in student council."

"I'm so pleased you're joining groups of children your own age, Arthur," his mother said. Francis's mother smiled at her own son and fussed a bit with his hair, which made him scowl and bat at her hands.

"And what about you? You never tell me anything in your e-mails. Who is this boy you like so much?" she asked. Despite her friendliness, and obvious desire to connect with him, Francis rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"It is nothing. Can't we talk about something else?"

So the topic of conversation shifted again, and both Arthur and Francis eagerly wished the vacation would go by speedily, for the sake of their sanity.

USUK

"It's a shame we'll have to lose a day together getting these braces put on, but it really is for the best. Stop fidgeting, dear," Helen said to her wiggling son. Alfred was currently lying prone on an orthodontist chair, with large moulds of his teeth crammed in his mouth, waiting for the putty to harden.

"This last one should almost be done. Once I've had a look at it, we can start applying the braces." The orthodontist was a sinfully chipper man, and Alfred desperately wanted to bite him the next time he put his fingers in his mouth. Already, his jaw was aching and his teeth felt like they'd been tugged on with pliers.

"How long before he can eat normal food?" his mother asked. Alfred's eyes went wide in horror.

'_She didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to eat! This has to stop!'_ Alfred thought desperately. But it was too late. His mouth was full of plaster and the assistant was preparing the evil metal contraptions. _'I'm never going to get kissed ever again. This blows!'_

"You'll be able to eat normally for the most part after about a week or so. Until then, your mouth will be a little sore and you'll probably prefer soft foods. You should avoid anything sticky or too brittle, and be careful of foods like apples and carrots. They're good for you, but if you aren't careful about how you eat them they can do damage. But don't worry, lad. Your teeth aren't in that bad of shape. You'll probably have these off in about eight or nine months, if you follow your plan," the orthodontist said.

"At least they won't have to be on for very long. If you wear the bands, and use the headgear at night, they can be off as early as this summer, darling," Helen promised. Alfred shot her a betrayed look, which caused her normally icy heart to melt ever so slightly.

"We can go to McDonalds after this and I'll let you get a milkshake," she bartered. Alfred's eyes lit up like Christmas tree lights. He _loved_ McDonalds, but considering his parents were health-freaks, it was a rare occasion when he got to go.

"Alright, we can take this out now," the orthodontist said. He passed the mould of Alfred's bottom teeth to his assistant for her to clean it off, and he grabbed the x-rays of Alfred's jaw. "I'm just going to look over these in my office and then I'll be right back."

"Mom, do I _have_ to do this?" Alfred whined.

"Alfred, don't be so ungrateful. Some children are just stuck with ugly teeth, but because I love you, I'm getting you the treatment you need. The least you could do is be mature about it," she scolded. Alfred pouted. Taking pity on him, the pretty assistant brought over a plastic box.

"You'll get to pick the color of your bands. That's kind of cool, huh?" she said. Alfred peeked at the available colors, reluctantly interested. "These ones here glow in the dark," she said. Alfred flashed a small smile.

"Oh, Alfred, don't get some ridiculous colors. Just get silver," his mother said, glancing up from her fashion magazine. The assistant winked at Alfred.

"Sorry, but the policy is that the patient gets to choose. You like these, yeah?" she asked. Alfred nodded a bit shyly. His mother rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything more about it.

"That _is_ kinda cool," Alfred said. The assistant laughed, revealing that she had perfect, shiny white teeth.

"I liked getting all the colors at once when I had mine. You should do that next time," she advised. Alfred smiled, but it made his cracked lips hurt. He pulled out his phone, and read a text from Mattie asking him how it was going. He replied (_**this totally blows!**_) and then the orthodontist was back. They started the application, and two hours later, Alfred had a mouth full of metal that glowed in the dark.

His mother gave his shoulder a little squeeze as they left the office. "Okay, honey?"

"No," Alfred replied, some drool escaping down his chin. His mother bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing. Alfred had four rubber bands total, two on each side, and special headgear in his hand to wear at night. He could barely open his jaw due to the bands, and his whole head was aching.

"Come on then, I'll drop you back off at your dorm and then go get you your junk food."

Alfred was so miserable that he didn't even think McDonalds could make him feel better.

USUK

Matthew enjoyed taking walks, especially when it felt like the campus was totally empty. Alfred was getting his braces put on during the first official morning of vacation, which left Matthew rather alone. He started walking the path he typically took with Francis, mulling over their phone call from the night before as he did so, but for the first time, he noticed what appeared to be a walking trail that led off into the woods.

Matthew trudged through a bit of snow until he stood peering into the pretty, snow-drenched forest. He glanced behind him, wondering if it was smart to go into the woods alone, but decided no harm could come from it if he didn't go too far. He picked up a stray rock that was rather sharp, and gouged a little mark in the tree. If he made a trail, he could enjoy his walk without worrying about getting lost. He spotted a few pretty winter birds, hopping about energetically on the branches above his head, and in the distance, a lone deer considered him as she stood nibbling on some shrubs. He went deeper and deeper into the woods, until he spotted some tracks that were definitely from a human. Curious, Matthew began to follow them, still carefully marking his path.

He walked for at least another half hour before he spotted the shed. It was covered with dead overgrowth, and clearly hadn't been given any attention for years. The metal was rusty and dilapidated looking. It was a fairly large structure, leading Matthew to assume it might have been the storage shed used by whoever maintained the schools' grounds. Perhaps it had been abandoned when the newer one was built closer to campus.

Regardless of how it came to exist in the woods, the front door was slightly ajar, and the tracks led inside. Matthew might have been scared or nervous, but the rather telling strains of heavy metal music he heard led him to suspect who was inside.

He pushed the door open slightly, peeking in. Sure enough, with his jacket discarded and wearing only short sleeves despite the snow, Gilbert sat in the shed…surrounded by tons of potted plants. It was warm inside, due to the heat emitted from an electric heater in the corner, and the spacious shed was illuminated by a haphazard trail of electric bulbs. Gilbert's hands were stained with dirt, and as the awful music blasted out of his ipod speakers, he lovingly tended to the little flowers and herbs.

Matthew took a sniff of the air, which was a little smoky looking, and realized with wide eyes that he was smelling weed. Gilbert turned to tend a different plant, and his reddish eyes landed on Matthew. Clearly stoned, the other boy just smiled lazily.

"Hey man, what's up?" he asked, as if it were perfectly normal for Matthew to discover his illegal little greenhouse. Matthew opened the door a little further, wanting to escape the cold for a bit…and curious, despite himself.

"What on earth _is_ all this?" he asked, his eyes trailing over all the pots—some blooming, others not.

"It's me and Mogen's awesome little garden away from home—by invitation only. Never thought Mogens was talking about sending _you_ here, though. Did you come for the Purple Kush or the Super Silver Haze? I got a special running on the haze—its good shit, man."

"Uh…what?"

"Ah, first time buying some Mary Jane?" Gilbert asked, standing up and dusting off his hands, an excited smile on his face. Matthew looked like a startled baby deer. Oblivious to his confusion, Gilbert pulled a tiny little bag out of his backpack. "We're on vacation, and you got nothing to do but bake your ass off. Go for the haze, man."

"I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding…" Matthew said. Gilbert cursed.

"Fuck. Did Mogens tell you I'd take a b.j. instead of pounds? I told that asshat we gotta cover startup costs. He can't keep blowin' our profits…ha…get it? _Blowing_ our profits? Don't know why I'm laughing. Fuckin' perv has gone through half the freshman class already and it's not even spring. He probably thought you were a girl."

"Gilbert…what the hell is going on?" Matthew asked. The other boy just sighed, and undid his belt. Matthew's eyes went wide in surprise.

"Fine. 'Cause Mogens fucked up our deal, the first time only you can give me a b.j., but next time you gotta pay, okay?"

"I'm not…I don't…I'm not s-sucking you off for weed!" Matthew finally spat out. It was too late, though. Gilbert already had his pants down around his ankles and Matthew's jaw dropped. Who knew stoner Gilbert was hung like a horse? Matthew felt his cheeks flush with color. Gilbert smirked, his eyes devilish.

"That's right, teddy bear. Take a picture of this awesomeness—it'll last ya longer."

"Oh my god. I'm…I'm leaving now," Matthew said. Or at least, that's what he intended to do, but Gilbert was just letting it all hang out and honestly, Matthew had never seen one so impressive. At first he was just blushing, but then he started giggling.

"Dude, get the fuck in here. I'm hotboxin' this shit and you're letting the smoke out." Gilbert pulled him inside by his jacket, closing the door behind him. The smoke in the small greenhouse was pungent and thick in the air, and Matthew coughed a bit. When he recovered from his cough, Gilbert had extended a blunt in front of his face. He was still half-naked, without a care in the world, his hair wild and disheveled and his lips twisted into a devil-may-care grin.

Matthew took the blunt, knowing he was probably going to regret this…but he was still _technically _single, right? And it was Gilbert, the boy who he was most curious about (aside from Francis, of course) in their whole year.

He was already feeling a bit light-headed, but as soon as the smoke hit his lungs, he started rolling. Gilbert took the blunt back, puffed on it, then handed it back to Mattie. The soft-spoken Canadian boy took it again, with a little less hesitation this time.

"After you inhale, take another quick breath," Gilbert advised. Matthew couldn't believe just seconds ago he'd been taking an innocent walk, and now he was in a shed getting high with the school stoner, who was undressing, but there he was, and he couldn't bring himself to care about it overly much.

He couldn't really care about anything, except the fact that his skin felt amazing and hot and he wanted his jacket off…and he really could _not_ stop staring at Gilbert's monstrous cock.

"How do you _walk_ with that thing?" he asked. Gilbert sat beside him, playing with himself without a care in the world. He smiled.

"Oh, I do all kinds of shit with it. You feeling it?"

Matthew had just tossed his expensive pea coat onto the dirt floor, covered in muddy snow, without thinking twice about it.

'_Oh yeah, I'm definitely feeling something,'_ Matthew thought. Or had he said that out loud?

"Can I touch it?" he asked, giggling a few seconds later. Gilbert shrugged.

"Whatever dude. I'm totally not gay, but my dick is like a work of art. Everyone should get to enjoy it, you know?"

"Yeah," Matthew agreed, forgetting all about his usual hang-ups and insecurities and reaching for the other boy's penis. He and Francis had made out a lot, and they cuddled and held hands, but they'd never actually gone all the way. Matthew was too insecure about his body to let Francis see him naked, though he'd kept his boyfriend happy with oral. Francis raved about how good he was at it.

Matthew was curious if Gilbert would feel the same…

"Fuck yeah," Gilbert moaned, as Matthew took him in. Matthew worked his lips around Gilbert's head, feeling floaty and rebellious and sexy all at once. He'd never _done_ something like this—he was just boring Matthew, who never got high or had sex with a stranger. He felt like a total slut, and it was turning him on.

Gilbert was fully hard now, lazily pumping his hips into Matthew's mouth. Time began to slip away, and Matthew used every trick he knew of, but Gilbert lasted for an incredibly long time. All Matthew knew was that his jaw was aching before the other boy tugged him off and came in his hand after a few harsh tugs.

Gilbert fixed his pants, and then casually slipped his hand inside Matthew's unbuttoned jeans. Matthew's eyes went wide at the sensation—it felt a _million_ times better than when he touched himself—and came embarrassingly quickly. He sat slumped against the shed wall, dazed, his shirt off and his fly undone, his limp manhood exposed.

'_Holy fuck!'_ Matthew thought. His brain didn't seem able to process anything more than that one thought, which rolled through his head on repeat. Gilbert pulled up his baggy jeans as he stood and wiped his hand off on a spare rag. He checked on a few more of his plants and changed the song on his ipod. He shuffled around in his backpack, produced the little plastic bag full of herbs, and tossed it at Matthew.

"I'm still not gay, or whatever, but that was fucking hardcore man. You can pay in blowjobs any day. Now get outta here. Mogens will probably be here any minute with the guy who was actually _supposed_ to find this place." Gilbert winked at him, and Matthew slowly did up his pants and stood. He picked up his jacket, seeing the mud stains but not really _seeing_ them, feeling nothing except the urge to sleep for days and days.

He stumbled out into the snowy woods as if it were an alien planet. Everything was crisp and startlingly beautiful. He felt amazing. He was filthy and sweaty and he'd just given Gilbert Beilschmidt a _blowjob_ in an abandoned shed where he was growing weed…but Matthew felt totally badass.

He smirked in the beautiful, clean air. Francis had certainly never done _that_ before. Carrying his dirty little secret like a war medal pinned over his furiously pumping heart, Matthew began stumbling back towards the school, eyes red-rimmed and his world tilting and tumbling like he was looking through a kaleidoscope.

USUK

It was Christmas Eve. Alfred and Matthew baked cookies with Alfred's mother in the empty cooking classroom, and because they were using Helen's recipe, they were absolutely perfect (even though Helen didn't eat any of them). Alfred gave Matthew his Christmas present—a comically huge bottle of maple syrup—and Matthew gave Alfred his gift, which was a story he had written.

"I know you don't like to read, but I wrote it just for you. I hope you'll enjoy it," Matthew said shyly. Alfred gave his friend a grin, glancing casually at the first page. He was less than psyched at the length (because he knew he'd _have_ to read it) but he also knew Matthew was a talented writer and he'd no doubt find the story interesting.

"Thanks, Mattie. You must have put a lot of work into this!" Alfred said. His friend just blushed and smiled, pleased with the attention his story was getting. Helen also favored Matthew with a smile. He wasn't a flashy kid, nor was he anything special per say, but he was incredibly kind to her son and seemed to genuinely adore him. He was also fairly normal, which was a huge plus, and it was the first time Helen had seen her son interact with another boy without mentioning super heroes and space crusaders every two minutes.

But Helen was a smart woman, and she never missed the details. She knew Matthew was gay, that was fairly obvious to anyone with eyes in their head, but less obvious was the way Alfred interacted with him. It was almost the _lack _of interaction that made it stand out. For instance, while baking the cookies, Alfred had reached for the oven mit at the same time Matthew had gone for it, and the both of them seemed to freeze, as if remembering something that had happened between them that made things awkward. Then Alfred moved away, as if determined not to touch or brush up against the other boy in any sort of way.

Helen watched them closely all week, and she tried to include the Canadian boy in as many of their outings about London as she possibly could. Now, at the end of her visit, she was fairly convinced that something _was_ different about Alfred, beyond how he'd grown, and how his voice had lowered ever-so-slightly. Her mind kept coming back to the pictures that had hit the tabloids of her son's visit with the Queen—which had been late night fodder for _months_. Was her son really gay, or was she just imagining things because that was what everyone was saying back home?

She decided she'd have to speak with Alfred about it first, and then with his father when she returned home. They would decide what to do from there. She really didn't care who her son fooled around with, but their family was high-profile and in the tumultuous world of politics. Her husband would be up for re-election in just three short years, and having a gay son could dramatically affect his numbers. They'd talked about the possibility briefly, but decided to forego further discussion until Helen had a chance to see Alfred over the break.

"Let's save this one for Santa! It's the best looking one," Alfred said happily. "Too bad Arthur's not here. He'd love your cookies, mom," Alfred said casually, shooting her a smile dripping in metal. He'd adjusted with no small amount of whining to the braces, but he really _did_ look pathetic. With glasses, braces, and that awkward look about him still, Alfred sometimes made her wonder if her baby hadn't been accidentally switched with someone else's at the hospital. It was not just looks, either—Alfred was too sweet to be the child of herself and her husband. He was kind hearted where they were ruthless, simple-minded where they were sharp, and innocent where they were corrupt.

She sometimes wondered what she had done to deserve such a _good_ kid, even though she didn't always know how to express her love for him. She tried to do what was best for him, treating him like some never-ending make-over project in the process. She wondered why her son didn't hate her for it, and wondered if he would finally hate them if they had to drive a hard line on the gay issue. He was a sweet boy, but even Alfred surely had his limits. She wondered what the next Christmas would be like for their family, and hoped it would still be intact.

Matthew cracked a joke in his quiet way, and Alfred laughed happily, his blue eyes sparkling. Helen found herself incredibly glad that Alfred was spending this important year away from their influence—enjoying being a teenager for once. He'd made friends for himself, and gotten involved, and all in all Helen was incredibly proud of him.

He came over, once again offering her a cookie and glass of milk.

"Sure you don't want one, mom? It's not gonna make you fat—you're the prettiest girl in the world, ya know," Alfred said sweetly. Feeling oddly emotional, Helen took a tiny bite of the cookie and a sip of the milk.

"They're good, Alfred. I'm very glad I'm getting to spend Christmas with you this year. You know that, right?" she said. Matthew smiled at them, and pretended to be absorbed in cleaning up the kitchen.

"Of course, mom. I'm glad you're here, too. I'm even glad about the braces…kind of. I don't want to have messed up teeth—then I'll _really_ never get a girlfriend."

She saw right through his brave smile, as she always had. She gave his cheek an affectionate pat, and wondered just how much damage that smile was trying to hide. She should have never been given a son like Alfred. They really were a terrible match.

"You know…I've always pushed this girlfriend business, but I think that was a mistake," she said. Alfred's eyes widened in what was obvious fear—he thought she knew. Her son's whole body was tense, as if waiting for a blow. She knew whatever she said next would impact her impressionable son deeply, and so she considered her words carefully.

"I think…it's best not to get into anything too serious, too soon. Even if you really like _someone_, and let's assume this _someone_ is another boy, don't rush into anything. Next year you'll be back home, and more in the public eye than ever before. You really can't date just anyone. We should talk about it as a family first. What do you think?" she asked. She had never seen her son look so confused.

"I…I don't understand. Mattie, can you give us a minute?" Alfred asked, feeling embarrassed. His friend ducked out of the kitchen after a quick nod. "I'm not gay. I don't know what made you think that, but I'm—"

"Alfred, darling, I'm not saying you are. Whether you're gay or straight—that's not really the issue. The issue is that whatever relationships you pursue are going to be seen through a magnifying glass. I don't know if it's Matthew you've got your eye on, or someone else entirely, but just know that any gay relationship you have is going to affect your father's career. I'm not saying you can't be gay, but I'm saying I want you to be sure—_really_ sure—before you make that choice. You've changed and grown so much since coming here—I really couldn't be prouder—and part of why I'm so proud is that you're trying to really figure out who you are, and you aren't hiding in comic books anymore. I want you to grow into a strong, confident man who knows what he wants, but I also ask you consider the very public nature of our family's lives. Do you understand?" Helen could tell it was rather pointless to ask. The boy looked like someone had just asked him to calculate the distance between Earth and Mars in centimeters and divide mentally by thirteen.

"Let me just be straightforward with you. Matthew seems like a sweet enough boy, and Arthur is insanely popular in the media for being a teen heart throb. Either of them would be a good choice, but your father and I have heard that you sometimes hang around a Russian boy with questionable family ties, and that's what's really troubling us."

"Mom, I don't know how you know all this…and I'm glad you're not angry…but don't you want me to be straight? I looked into it, and I found out that there are these camps you can go to—"

"Alfred, darling, use your brain. Have you any _idea_ how terrible it would look if your father and I allowed you to go to some right-wing, conservative extremist anti-gay camp? Your father may be a more conservative minded democrat, but he's still a democrat. We'd lose a _huge_ support base in the gay community if that were to happen. Just put that silly little thought out of your head," she said. Alfred seemed to shrink inside his rugby jacket, as if his mother's opinions and decisions about the topic were weighing him down to the ground. Seeing he was speechless, she continued on.

"No, your father and I have already discussed it somewhat, and we think this could be quite beneficial if we spin it right. Because we have a gay son, your father could throw his support behind more popular gay rights movements without losing touch with his older, more conservative supporters, but this could very easily slip into scandal. That's why it's important you choose carefully, and be absolutely certain this is what you want. I like Matthew well enough, but dating Prince Arthur would certainly make headlines in a good way. Just avoid that Ivan boy. That's all I'm saying."

"So…you want me to be gay so dad can get more votes…but you just don't want me to be with Ivan, because his family is shady?" Alfred asked, finally putting it all together.

"Well, it's more complicated than that, but essentially that's what it boils down to. We care about your happiness, too, of course. I just want you to realize that we should handle this as a family."

"But…but I like Ivan. He's my friend, and he's a good person. He's just had a really hard time of it, and—" Alfred said, his eyes sparking with determination that had become familiar to his friends. His mother, however, had never seen him with such a look.

"So it _is_ the Russian boy? I should have expected as much. Nothing can ever be simple with you, can it Alfred? Look, I think I'm being very reasonable. As long as you date someone presentable, your father and I will sort the rest out, but the Ivan boy is off limits. I mean it, Alfred. Really, even just a friendship could reflect badly on us."

Alfred stared at her, _really _stared at her, as if measuring her up. She stood, arching a perfect brow, as if daring him to challenge her. After a long moment, Alfred hung his head, feeling horribly wronged somehow, and pushed past her to flee the room. Helen stared after him and sighed.

She'd hoped he would be happy that she'd given him her blessing to date a boy, but that hadn't gone at all as she'd planned.

**A/N: **So…some questionable stuff in this chapter. We have the first descriptive sex scene, and of course it would go to Gilbert. Shame on you Prussia, getting high with Holland (Mogens – got the name off a list the creator of Hetalia was considering for Holland) and soiling Canada's innocence! I hope you guys don't hate me. Well, at least Gilbert can't hate me, since I made him so impressive and what-not. :P

Also, I didn't plan for Alfred's mother to realize he was gay during her visit, but as sharp as I've made her, and as much speculation as there has been in the states after the Queen photos, it seemed like the topic would come up, and Helen is the sort of woman that would force her opinions about it onto Alfred before he was really ready for them.


	20. Ivan's True Nature

Chapter 20

Matthew was almost on the verge of calling Arthur. Whatever Alfred's mother had said to him in the kitchen had seriously affected the boy, and he'd refused to come out of his room all Christmas day. His mother had left around noon, after saying goodbye to the door, and a rather emotionless "I love you."

Now Alfred was going on skipping three meals, which indicated to Matthew that something was _seriously_ wrong. Statistics about teen suicide kept popping up persistently in his brain and Matthew banged on the door a bit more urgently.

"Alfred, at least let me know if you're okay in there," Matthew said. He didn't get an answer. "If you don't answer me, I'm calling Arthur!" Matthew finally shouted.

Finally…_finally_…the door opened, and Alfred glared at him rather sullenly.

"I'm fine. I just want to be alone," he said moodily. Feeling as though he'd been silly for worrying so much, Matthew bit his lip.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" he asked. Alfred slumped against the door frame, still not opening the door all the way.

"No," he said shortly. Matthew frowned. Arthur wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd bully Alfred into talking to him and working out his issues, but Matthew was nowhere near as forceful as Arthur. He felt spectacularly useless.

"What about something to eat?" he asked. "I could go get you something if you're sick of the vending machine food." With the cafeteria shut down for the holidays, the boys had been left with vending machines and the small gas station located about a mile from the school as their only sources of groceries. Of course, it was also an option to catch a bus or get a cab to go further into town.

"My teeth hurt. I'm not hungry. Did you need something?" Alfred asked, a hint of rudeness in his tone. Now Matthew _really_ wanted to call Arthur. _He_ wouldn't put up with that tone at all.

"N-no…I was just worried, that's all. I'm sorry your visit with your mom didn't—"

"Look, I'll talk to ya later, Matthew. I'm busy right now," Alfred said, not bothering to wait for his reply before he shut his door. Matthew blinked at the barrier and frowned. He knew his friend was hurting, and even seemed a little sick, but Alfred was being awfully childish. He decided to give him till New Years to cool off, but if he was still behaving in such a way, Matthew would call in reinforcements. He knew Arthur would come in a heartbeat.

Finding himself alone again, Matthew went walking…or rather, he went searching for Gilbert. It wasn't that he wanted to try marijuana again, though it had been a very freeing experience for him, but he was more interested in Gilbert and what he was hiding under those baggy pants.

He found him near the back of the school with two other boys, one of whom he presumed to be Mogens. The tall boy was solidly built, and definitely an upperclassman. He had spiky brown hair and brown eyes, and he wore punk clothing similar to Gilbert's attire. Their friend was scrawny and looked totally wasted. He must have been an upperclassman as well, because Matthew didn't recognize him.

"Well, if it isn't teddy bear. Come to party with us?" Gilbert asked. He and the taller boy were skateboarding off the slippery steps and handrails, abusing the flimsy looking boards as they flipped and skidded on them. They were rather talented at it, and it was semi-interesting to watch.

"Is this the queer kid you were talking about—the one that gives such good head?" Mogens asked, smirking in amusement and interest. Matthew blushed, and realized that there was nothing to prevent Gilbert from blabbing to the whole school what he had done—unless the boy cared about his own reputation as being straight. Matthew was beginning to doubt that he did.

"My friend is sick, and nobody else stayed over break," he offered by way of explanation.

"You skate?" Gilbert asked, flipping his board up rather impressively into his hands. Matthew shyly shook his head.

"Well don't just stand there. It's not every day someone as awesome as me offers a free lesson," Gilbert said, extending his skate board. Mogens laughed, as if he found the whole scenario ridiculously amusing.

"You know he just wants another blowjob, right kid?" Mogens asked crudely. Feeling that adrenalin kick from doing something he knew he shouldn't, Matthew joined them anyway and uncertainly accepted the board, tossing a weak glare at Mogens as he did so. He stood with it for a long time before Gilbert gave him a look as if to say 'are you retarded?'

"Putting it on the ground is generally a good start," Gilbert suggested mildly. Blushing (he'd _known_ that, of course) Matthew put the board on the ground. He stepped onto the board unsteadily, but Gilbert's hands landed bracingly on his hips. Nearby, Mogens lit up a cigarette, watching them all the while with knowing eyes. Matthew was blushing hotly, his body reminding him just how good he had felt the last time the school stoner touched him. Gilbert's breath plumed icily in the air against Matthew's cheek—he smelled like patchouli and weed, and Matthew was a little alarmed that he liked the smell.

Then Gilbert pushed him, hard, and he went rolling unsteadily on the board a few feet before he tumbled off, scraping his hands on the icy gravel. Gilbert laughed, hopped back on the board, and skated by him.

"Lesson number one. Get used to falling, 'cause you're not as awesome as me and you won't be able to pull off moves like these any time soon!" Gilbert crowed before popping the board up off the ground, grinding down the handrail, and landing the trick with expert smoothness. His hands stinging, Matthew sat on the dirty gravel shocked that the other boy had actually pushed him. Francis would have never…

'_But he's not Francis, is he? Francis has no idea you're here at school, giving out blow jobs like free candy and smoking weed,' _Matthew thought, suddenly angry with himself for his actions. He felt guilty, and rather used.

Gilbert circled back, sticking out a hand.

"Lemme see, sissy-boy," Gilbert demanded. Matthew bit his lip, feeling angry. Gilbert laughed at him and squatted down, grabbing his hands and inspecting the damage. "You're only bleeding a little bit, but the pout is cute—reminds me of other cute things you can do with your mouth."

"Shut up!" Matthew replied, standing suddenly and pushing Gilbert as hard as he could. The other boy slipped in his flat sneakers and landed with an 'oomph!' on his rear.

"You're just a loser! You'll never do anything important in life. All you care about is getting high and killing your immature little brain cells," Matthew accused. Perhaps it was the stress of dealing with Alfred, or the anxiety he felt about the situation with Francis, or any number of things that had stressed him out since the break began, but he was definitely venting his frustration on Gilbert. He expected a fight—wanted one even—but the other boy denied him. Instead, he laughed and pulled some neon green band-aids out of one of his numerous pockets.

"Look at you, being all badass. Must be the war wounds. Here," Gilbert said, easily capturing his hand and smoothing on an obnoxiously bright band-aid. He gave the other hand the same treatment. "Feel better now? You can shout at me some more if it'll help. Or we could go smoke some of that haze I gave you. That'll take the edge off."

"I…I…I have to go," Matthew blurted, tugging his hands back and running from the courtyard, slipping a bit on the ice as he did so. He heard Mogens' laughter ringing in his ears the entire way.

USUK

Arthur winced as he heard Francis and his mother shouting at each other in Francis's room. His French was less than perfect, but he knew enough to get the gist of the conversation. There was a gentle knock on his door, and Arthur went to open it. His own mother came in, a worried frown on her face.

"Poor Madeline and Francis. I wish there was something I could do, but I suppose all teenagers go through a phase where they hate their parents. Are you alright?" she asked. Arthur gave her a hug, and then sat on his bed, patting the space beside him.

"You know it's not just that. His parents are going to get divorced, aren't they?" Arthur asked. His mother winced but nodded.

"I told her not to tell him over the vacation, least of all today, but she thought it was what he wanted. She never imagined he'd take it like this," his mother said. They heard the sound of something glass breaking. Luckily, it was just them and Patrick in the house. Arthur's oldest brothers and their wives were busy with ceremonial functions, and his father was at Buckinham Palace, recording the Queen's Christmas Day speech to the people with her. They typically opened presents Christmas night, instead of in the morning, but now Arthur was wondering if anything would be normal after Francis received such upsetting news.

It was making him on edge, even if it wasn't his own parents fighting so fiercely, and Arthur leaned into his mother's side seeking comfort.

"You and dad…" Arthur trailed off questioningly, a lump in his throat. His mother pressed a kiss against his unruly hair.

"Never you fear, poppet. Your father and I are happy as can be. We love you boys so much. Madeline and Christophe love Francis, too, but sometimes even if you only want what's best for your children, love just doesn't work out how you think it will."

"I just feel so useless. I've never heard him sound so furious before. His parents have always fought, but—" They both winced as they heard more glass shatter.

"You said his best friend is still in town, right? Maybe it would help Francis if he were to come stay the night, so he'd have someone to talk to?" his mother suggested.

"How would he get here?" Arthur asked.

"You and Patrick can go pick him up in my car. I'll stay here and go in after a little bit to try to calm them both down."

"Okay…thanks, mum…for everything," Arthur said, hugging her once more tightly before leaving to go find Patrick. The red-head was more than happy to help, and they quietly prepared the car for driving on the icy roads and then took off for the school. Arthur had texted Matthew but hadn't received a response yet, nor was he able to get one from Alfred.

"I don't know why he's not answering. I hope he hasn't gone off somewhere with Alfred and his mum," Arthur said. Patrick cast him a quick sideways glance, but kept his gaze firmly on the road.

"You okay? That didn't sound pretty," Patrick commented. Arthur frowned and played with his phone.

"Francis has always wanted them to break up…but I guess he just never thought it would actually happen. All the lying and his mother's health problems haven't been easy on him. I hope Matthew can help him. God knows he won't want my company," Arthur said.

"So you two actually dated? I find that really hard to believe," Patrick said with a small grin. Arthur just shrugged glumly.

"He was just trying to make Matthew jealous. It's possible I was trying to make Alfred jealous, too…just a little bit."

"Did it work?" Patrick asked. Arthur sunk even further in his chair, his frown morphing into a full-fledged pout. Patrick huffed in amusement. "I'll take that as a no. Is this Alfred kid even gay?" he asked.

"Yeah, but he's really confused about it," Arthur said. "I don't get what's so hard to figure out per say, but his parents are also ridiculously hard on him, and he's in the papers so much more than we are back home."

"Sounds tough for both of you," Patrick said. Arthur just shrugged his shoulders. Patrick frowned. "He's not leading you on though, is he?"

"Well, sort of, but I don't think it's intentional. We're best mates, so it's kind of hard to know what's flirting and what's just being friendly," Arthur explained. "I know he cares about me a lot, and I…well, I think I might love him." Arthur glanced quickly at his brother, expecting laughter, but Patrick just nodded.

"Mum's always saying it, but it's true. You're pretty mature for your age, Arthur. I didn't give a crap about girls when I was a freshman. I hardly noticed them till the end of my sophomore year, much less think about something like love. Not everyone grows up as fast as you have, so try not to be too hurt if this kid hasn't gotten it all figured out yet. Some of us boys just take a little longer before we wise up. But you know…instead of trying to make him jealous, you could always try making him horny. I'm just sayin'—most immature guys are usually thinking with something other than their hearts, you know."

Arthur blinked in surprise at the unexpected, though very honest insight from his older brother, who was grinning boyishly over the steering wheel and speaking as though his wisdom came from experience. Arthur gave his brother a small smile, feeling a little better about everything. Maybe Alfred was just a late bloomer, like Patrick, and would eventually see how perfect they would be together. In the mean time, what would it hurt to do a bit of flirting?

For his part, Patrick was hoping he hadn't just made his little brother's love sickness worse, but it was hard to imagine a kid _not_ liking his brother, if he was gay that is. Arthur was a little uptight at times, and he could definitely be bossy, but he was quirky and smart and pretty adorable when he wanted to be—he'd certainly wrapped their mum around his little finger, and even their stoic dad had a soft spot for him. Of course, Dylan was proof that some people _could_ be immune to Arthur's special brand of charm.

Uneasy with the silence, Patrick turned on the radio and channel flipped until he found an awesome punk band from Ireland that he was currently obsessed with. Surprisingly, Arthur seemed to be into it as well.

"You like it?" Patrick asked. Arthur was smiling, nodding his head a bit to the hardcore beat.

"Cool. We should go to a concert sometime then," Patrick offered. His little brother smiled, and turned back to his window, still head bopping to the loud music.

The drove another hour and a half before they reached the front gates of World Academy, and pulled in. Patrick parked in the empty lot and they got out, heading towards Arthur's dorm.

"Man, this place still looks exactly the same," Patrick commented. He was five years older than Arthur, and so his freshman year had also been spent at the London campus. He'd graduated in Moscow, and now he was enjoying his gap year before university.

He and Arthur walked a familiar path until they reached the dorms and Arthur let them in with his key. It was growing late, nearly six in the evening, and Arthur was surprised to see Matthew standing outside his room with a bag of petrol station junk food and a worried expression on his face.

"Matthew? What's going on?" Arthur asked. Matthew glanced up in surprise, and Arthur's eyes were drawn to the strangely bright band-aids on his hands.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" Matthew asked. Arthur frowned uncomfortably.

"This is my brother, Patrick. We came for you, actually. Things have gotten a bit…well…terrible at my house. Francis and his mother are in a huge row—she told him she was divorcing his dad—and I thought it might help him to have you there. My mum invited you to come stay for the night."

"Poor Francis—that's a terrible thing to find out about on Christmas. I want to go, but…" Matthew said, looking genuinely distressed by the news. He bit his lip, seemingly torn by something.

"Why are you hovering outside my door with chocolate and crisps?" Arthur asked.

"Things haven't gone so well here, either. Alfred came out to his mother…or I guess it's better to say she guessed? And I don't know what she said, but I think it was pretty terrible. He's been locked up in his room all yesterday afternoon and today, and he hasn't eaten anything. Around ten he told me to leave him alone, and seemed sick."

"Oh, for the love of—Matthew, you go with Patrick and sort out Francis. I'll stay here with Alfred. When you bring Matthew back tomorrow afternoon, you can pick me up. Okay?" Arthur said, directing his plan at Patrick. His brother just shrugged uncaringly and smiled at the kid that was supposedly Francis's real boyfriend. He was nice enough looking, though he seemed to be afraid of his own shadow.

"Alright. Come on, kid. I'll take you to Francis. You'll be alright here, Arthur? You sure you don't mind missing Christmas?" he verified. His younger brother nodded distractedly, already fishing out his keys to unlock his door.

"I'll be fine. Thanks for driving us around, Patrick," Arthur said, as he unlocked the door.

Francis and Patrick left, and Arthur entered the darkened bedroom he shared with Alfred. It was a total wreck, with dirty clothes strewn all about, empty food wrappers coating the floor, trash overflowing from the bin, and his lazy ass roommate snoring under the covers, a mound of used tissues by his bed. Arthur gently felt his forehead, unsurprised to discover he was hot to the touch, and got to work with a sigh.

Two hours later, when Arthur normally would have been opening Christmas presents, he strode quickly across the now immaculate room and coaxed Alfred onto his sweaty back.

"Come on, wake up. Rise and shine, Alfred. You need to take something, and then I'll let you go back to sleep," Arthur said. His roommate groaned, nuzzling against his hand rather pathetically, blurrily blinking open his eyes.

"Arthur?" he asked. The prince was startled to see whatever was inside his roommate's mouth _glowing_ in the darkness.

"What the bloody hell is on your teeth?" Arthur asked, tugging at his roommate's lips to inspect the horrible mess of wires and brackets and rubber bands. "This is supposed to be an _improvement_?" Arthur asked. His depressed roommate groaned weakly and pushed ineffectually at his hands.

"Dun make fun of me…I'm sick and miserable," Alfred pouted. Arthur reached for the cup of hot tea he'd whipped up with the electric kettle they kept in their room and used the alluring smell of honey and lavender to coax Alfred into half-sitting. He sneezed, and Arthur only just managed to get him the tissue in time.

"How long have you been sick?" Arthur asked.

"I started feeling bad last night, but I thought it was just 'cause of my mom," Alfred replied stuffily. He took the pills Arthur offered him and swallowed them with a small sip of tea. He blinked owlishly when Arthur put his glasses on his face. "You cleaned," he commented. Arthur gave him the _look_. "Sorry it was so messy," Alfred added a bit sheepishly.

"I don't really expect anything different from you. Is the tea too hot?"

"No, it tastes good. Could use more honey, though."

"I put in nearly as much honey as tea. It's sugary enough. If you think you can keep it down, I can make you some soup. It's one of the few things in your stockpile of groceries that's actually edible. Have you been eating nothing but chocolate and crisps all week?"

"Naw…my mom made me eat healthy while she was in town," Alfred replied. At the mention of his mother, he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"So you came out, hmm? Copy cat," Arthur teased lightly. Alfred huffed as if amused, but there was no real humor in his voice when he replied.

"I didn't come out. She just _knew_, about you and Matthew and Ivan—"

"Ivan?" Arthur asked in surprise. Alfred blushed, though it was hard to tell with his fever.

"She knew I had a thing for him…a crush…whatever you want to call it. She told me I should stop being friends with him, because of his family. She also told me if I was going to be gay, then I should date someone acceptable, like you or Matthew, but preferably you since that would look better in the papers. My parents think if they spin it right, my dad can get more votes out of it."

Arthur's head was spinning, and it had been ever since his roommate so casually admitted he had a _thing_ for Ivan. Since when had _that_ happened? Arthur felt annoyance and jealousy start to bubble up inside him. Was Alfred just determined to have a crush on all of their gay friends with the exception of him? It certainly wasn't _Ivan_ that had cleaned up his mess and made him tea and was tending to him when he could be celebrating Christmas with his family. It wasn't Matthew either, for that matter.

"Arthur? I guess that wasn't the best way to tell you about Ivan...but nothing's going to come of it. He's with Yao. At least, I think he is."

Arthur wanted to say a lot of things, but he settled on saying, "I'm sorry your mother was so horrid about it."

"I'm sorry I like him Arthur. I know I'm supposed to like you—I _get_ it—but I can't help who I'm attracted to," Alfred said, pausing mid-speech to blow his nose. Arthur felt his brows hitch up in surprise at the weird comment.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Everyone wants us to hook up—most everyone in school thinks we already have. Matthew talks about it like we're some sort of fairy tale, and I'm just too stupid to realize what role I'm supposed to be playing. My own mother wants me to date you, and she's barely met you, even though I'm pretty sure the two of you would hate each other. My _point_ is that I get what everyone expects—even you—but it's just…it's just not what I want right now. I can't explain it. I know how great you are, hell, I know I'm probably being really stupid to dick around like this, but I just don't feel ready. The whole idea just…freaks me out."

Arthur swallowed thickly. "I didn't realize you were being pressured. I can't help _my_ feelings either, Alfred, but I've never expected that you return them. I admit that I rather hoped…"

"I like Ivan," Alfred said abruptly, cutting him off. "I know you don't deserve to hear that, but that's how I feel. I'm really attracted to him, and I've thought about him a lot lately."

Arthur narrowed his brows in sudden suspicion. "And this sudden attraction has nothing to do with the fact that your mother told you to stay away from him, I suppose?"

Alfred shifted a bit uncomfortably, hiding his face in the tea mug. Arthur knew he was onto something.

"Maybe…but it's not the _whole_ reason," Alfred confessed.

"What about Yao? He's my friend, you know. While he hasn't explicitly stated he has feelings for Ivan, I think that bit is fairly obvious. Not to mention, it seems to go both ways." Arthur was rapidly developing another theory about why Alfred might like Ivan—what with him being unavailable, it meant Alfred was in no danger of finding himself in a relationship he wasn't ready for. Beginning to resign himself to the situation, Arthur kept that little bit of insight to himself.

For the millionth time, Arthur cursed Alfred's mother in his head. Even when she was being supportive, she still managed to mess everything up. And why now, of all times, was Alfred deciding to be rebellious?

"I won't encourage you to break them up, especially if they're happy, but if you _do_ get the chance to date Ivan, I won't stand in your way. I'm trying not to let my feelings for you cause me to be a poor friend, and a friend would be supportive. So do what you feel like you have to do, but know that I'm not going to wait around forever."

"I know that. You're a better friend than I deserve," Alfred said, sneezing into another tissue. Arthur smiled a bit, but only because he knew Alfred wouldn't catch his expression. With his mouth full of glow-in-the-dark metal, his face covered in acne, and his glasses to round it all off, Arthur seriously doubted anything would happen between Alfred and Ivan. The irony of it all was that Alfred was claiming he didn't like Arthur because he wasn't his type, and Ivan was going to claim the same thing about Alfred. Arthur saw it for what it was—ill thought out rebellion and a crippling fear of the unknown. Alfred wasn't ready for a relationship with anyone yet, but when he _was_ ready, it certainly wasn't going to be with Ivan. Arthur thought about his brother's words about boys who were late bloomers, and smiled a bit to himself. He tucked the covers up over Alfred's shoulders and then did something rather bold.

He gently brushed aside Alfred's messy fringe, and kissed his forehead in an innocent brush of lips against skin.

"Goodnight, Alfred. Sleep well," he said. Below him, Alfred was frozen like a block of ice. Arthur inwardly smirked.

If Alfred thought he was so immune to his charms, then he should be able to resist them without any problems, right? Arthur didn't glance backwards to see if Alfred was watching him, but he casually stripped off his button up shirt and opened Alfred's dresser drawer.

"Mind if I borrow one of your shirts? I packed all mine," he said. He could _hear_ Alfred swallowing thickly, trying to get control of his voice before he spoke.

"Y-yeah, sure buddy, no…no problem," Alfred replied. His voice cracked nervously and Arthur grinned into the material of the T-shirt as he pulled it on. In the dim light of the room, he stepped out of his trousers and folded them neatly. He could practically _feel_ Alfred watching him in his too-big shirt. He'd never undressed in front of the other boy so casually before—not when it was obvious Alfred had nothing to do but watch.

But Alfred wasn't attracted—oh no, never that. After all, Arthur _totally_ wasn't his type. Careful to hide his smirk from his oh-so-naïve roommate, Arthur slipped into his bed and closed his eyes. He listened to Alfred toss and turn across the room for a good twenty minutes before he stood up.

"I feel gross. I'm gonna take a shower."

Arthur rolled onto his side, snickering into his pillow. Sure enough, Alfred didn't do any singing while he was under the spray of water, and Arthur knew exactly what that meant. Arthur fell asleep with a mischievous little smirk on his face.

USUK

Ivan decided he disliked Yao's family. They were loud and they talked too fast, and his mother doted on Yao as if he were a spoiled little prince, all the while shooting distrustful looks at Ivan. It made him want to bend Yao over the dining table and show his mother just what her precious boy was getting into at school.

And Yao was even bossier on his home turf. He ordered him about as if he were a lapdog, and insisted on going shopping in his father's markets even though Ivan protested that it was unnecessarily risky. But Ivan was quickly learning that what Yao wanted, Yao got, and he seemed to be included in that category as well. The annoying part of it all was that he still liked the infuriatingly bossy Asian, for some unfathomable reason. Yao was sarcastic and sharp as a tack, and he seemed to run circles around Ivan, but when he got completely unbearable, Ivan just hauled him off his feet and kissed him until he shut up for awhile. Once they were in his home, the need to use this method was increasingly disproportionate to how often he had the opportunity to use it, and so by the time the first week of vacation was over, Ivan was horny as hell, frustrated beyond belief, and ready to stuff one of Yao's knock-off electronics down the throat of his overbearing mother.

Instead, they were going shopping…_again_.

"This is dangerous. I do not think you understand that gang members, dangerous ones, are out there, hunting your blood. These types of men do not play games, Yao," Ivan said.

"I keep hearing all this talk about the big, bad Triads, but they haven't done a thing since I brought in you Russians. They won't touch me. I have you," Yao explained, as if he were a dull-witted child. Ivan grit his teeth. At the same time, he wouldn't stop Yao from doing just as he pleased, because the fact that he _would_, no matter what, was part of the reason Ivan liked him so much.

Though, Ivan was beginning to wonder if Yao was truly that brave, or just spectacularly naïve about gang violence. He was beginning to think it was the latter. Yao's mother realized they were about to go out and began to fuss at him in Chinese, as if it had been _his_ idea. He fired back in angry Russian.

"Don't yell at me, you crazy bitch! He's the spoiled princess that wants to go play with the Triads!"

Another Russian bodyguard staying in the house snickered, and Ivan knew he was in for it—now the banshee woman knew he'd insulted her. Beginning to yell and fuss in a way that would have impressed even his sister Natalia (if the crazy girl had been there to witness it) the diminutive Asian woman was working herself up into a right temper, even daring to poke his chest a few times. Yao finally came out of his bedroom, annoyed by the commotion, and matched his mother's intensity with easy practice. She cowed to him almost instantly, and Yao huffed as if he were annoyed to be surrounded by such ridiculousness.

As they went out the door, Ivan wrapped on his scarf and checked to make sure he had his compact little MSP silent pistol (he had it with him always in China) ready for action inside his coat pocket. A car pulled up instantly for Yao, who slid into the back without a care in the world. Ivan darted his eyes around the fairly busy street, looking for potential followers, and seeing none, joined Yao reluctantly in the back.

Yao fired off directions in Chinese to his father's driver, who nodded and eased them into the flow of traffic.

"Can you believe my mother? She suspects what is going on between us, but she won't just _say_ it. She'd still be in denial even if you fucked me in the living room," Yao said. He pitched his voice higher to imitate his mother's screeching, "When are you going to find some sweet girl to bring home instead of this hulking creepy-ass Russian boy? He smells like vodka and he took a piss on my garden!" Yao's voice returned to its normal register and he asked, "_Did_ you piss on her flowers?"

"Da," Ivan said carelessly, turning to see if anyone had started trailing them.

"She's right, though. Have you stopped drinking at any point since you got here?" Yao asked prissily. Ivan turned back around, satisfied they weren't being followed, and thought longingly of the little flask in his _other_ pocket. If he ran out of vodka on this vacation, he might just have to use the pistol to put himself out of his misery.

"I like my vodka. Never you mind how much I drink," he finally grunted. Yao sniffed delicately.

"My mother might like you more if you weren't so aggressive around her. She is just a harmless little woman."

"Ha! _You_ didn't get whacked by that fucking wok she's always carrying around! Take a hit from that and tell me again she is harmless. I still have the fucking bruise," Ivan said, pulling back his hair to show Yao the nasty lump. The Chinese boy winced, and at least had the good graces to look slightly apologetic.

"You startled her, that's all. It is understandable that she is on edge these days, and it can be unsettling how quietly you move for being so fat," Yao said. Ivan flashed him a hurt look.

"I'm big-boned! You've seen my muscle! I'm _very _fit!"

Yao rolled his eyes dismissively. "Do not be so sensitive—all you westerns are fat. You should eat more rice."

Ivan switched to Russian and grumbled in reply, "I'm _this_ close to sending you to the Triads with a bow wrapped around your pretty little neck."

"Being a little dramatic, aren't we? Will it make you feel better if I give you a nice massage when we get home?" Yao offered, glancing up at him through his dark lashes. Ivan felt his cock twitch in his trousers and smirked, impressed by Yao's impressive show of intelligence. He was already picking up on Russian with ease. Pretty soon, Ivan wouldn't be able to threaten him in it any longer, unless he got very creative with his vocabulary.

He leaned down close to Yao's ear, about to tell him in husky Russian just what part of him needed massaging, when all the sudden he glanced up to see a car collide into the front of their vehicle, sending them spinning wildly. The airbags exploded, but the driver was already dead, slumped forward and bleeding heavily from the head. The crash was not the end of the nightmare, though, because seconds later Ivan heard gunfire. He ducked protectively over Yao, hearing the bullets impact solidly with the metal of the car on the right side. A front window shattered. He counted the shots, waiting for a pause in the gunfire, knowing he only had two shots at his disposal. When the pause finally came, he moved quickly, ripping Yao out of his seatbelt and lunging to the left after smoothly opening the door, sending them both tumbling out onto the cement. Yao was in shock, latched onto him with an iron grip, terror filling his dark eyes.

Ivan lifted the smaller boy easily and sprinted for cover, dodging through the traffic colliding around the wreck, ducking into an alley and weaving through the crooked little streets full of trash and boxes. He nearly lost his footing in the snow, causing him to look down and realize one of them was bleeding. They were leaving a trail. He stopped, checked himself hastily and efficiently for wounds, and found none. Yao, however, had somehow cut his leg, and the large gash was bleeding rather profusely.

Ivan assessed the wound with a mind as sharp as a razor, determined it was non-lethal, and harshly tied off the wound with his scarf. Sofia would just have to knit him a new one…if he survived to ask for one, of course.

He doubled back a bit, Yao slung limply over his shoulder, and assessed his options. He had his phone, and if he could hole up somewhere, he could call his uncle, if he wasn't on the way already. But it would take time to find somewhere suitable, and meanwhile Yao was losing blood and the police would be sniffing around. Ivan hitched Yao up further on his shoulder and decided he'd go a bit further before hiding them in the nearest dumpster.

He made it down another two alleys, then a third, and spotted the perfect place for concealment, but a kid no older than himself appeared at the mouth of the narrow path. He was dressed in a sharp, black suit, with shades concealing his eyes, with a rather prominent dragon tattoo on the side of his face. Ivan dropped Yao behind him and reached for his pistol, firing off a shot smoothly at the same time the other teen did.

The Triad dropped to the snow, clutching his side, and Ivan shakily lowered his firing arm. Both weapons had been silent, and not a single sound was made except for the twin clicks of the hammers discharging.

Yao appeared in his line of sight, tears streaming down his face. His pretty hair was a mess, and there was a smear of blood on his cheek, which was otherwise almost as white as the snow falling around them. Ivan dropped heavily to his knees, like a mighty tree falling in a silent wood, his mind blank except for the realization that he had been shot.

**A/N: **Muahahaha. Is that a little piratical sauciness I see shining through in Arthur? I think it issss. Poor, stupid, innocent little Alfred. Oh, and poor Ivan, whom I just shot. XD Oh, and Gilbert's an ass…but he has cool, raver band-aids, so that makes up for it. :P Oh, and we're firmly in M rated territory now, so the rating has officially changed. Sorry for the reviewer that didn't like the pot references. There will be more of them. But this is a high school fic, and I've never heard of a high school that didn't have a few stoners running around corrupting innocents (but as one such corrupted innocent, I can tell you it's really not all that it's cracked up to be, and Mattie's pot scene was highly romanticized, so yeah…don't do pot. That was my public service announcement for the day.)


	21. Matthew and Francis: Together Again?

Chapter 21

Upon being updated on the situation, Arthur's mother decided they wouldn't celebrate Christmas without her youngest, and that they would wait to open presents the next day. Madeline was locked up in her room crying anyway, and Francis was in a terrible mood after their fight.

"There you are, dearie. Come along, now. You must be Matthew. Francis has had a terrible Christmas, and I hope having a good friend right now we'll help cheer him up a bit," Mary said, wrapping an arm around Matthew's shoulders and guiding him towards the stairs.

"I'm very sorry for i-imposing on Christmas," Matthew said, a little flustered by the whole situation. Arthur's mother made a 'tsk'-ing noise and continued sweeping him up the stairs.

"As far as I'm concerned, Christmas isn't until tomorrow. Now is there anything you need, dear? Are you hungry? How about some hot cups of tea for you and Francis?" she offered. Matthew was about to reply that he was fine, but Mary had already decided tea was in order and rattled off the types they had in the house. Before Matthew could pick one, she recommended a holiday brew that was her favorite and promised him she'd be right back with the beverages. Matthew found himself standing in front of a bedroom door, presumably Francis's. Mary left just as swiftly as she'd brought him, and Matthew tentatively knocked.

"Piss off!" Francis's angry voice ordered in French from the other side. With a soft sigh, Matthew opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Francis?" he asked, stepping into the dark room. He'd barely entered and closed the door behind him before the blond was in his arms. Startled, Matthew simply held him for a moment before he realized Francis had begun to cry against his shoulder. Matthew had never seen Francis cry, and it surprised him.

"It's going to be okay, Francis. I'm here," Matthew soothed gently in French. Francis was heavy in his arms, and Matthew maneuvered them to the bed, sitting them both down on the edge. Francis didn't seem to care how he'd gotten there, or even how he'd known to come. He was simply exhausted and desperate for Matthew to offer him the comfort he could not accept from his mother.

Mary came and went, silent as a church mouse, and left the tea on the little table by the door. All the while, Francis held on to Matthew, quietly crying against the material of his shirt. It wasn't until nearly a half hour later before he straightened, and wiped at his eyes.

"Look at this…pathetic," he said in disgust, glaring at the wetness on his palms. Matthew caught his hands and sweetly kissed his palms.

"It's not pathetic. It shows you're human. What happened?" Matthew asked. Francis leaned gratefully against Matthew, his long hair forming a curtain between them. Matthew gently tucked it behind Francis's ear, and pressed a soft kiss to the other boy's cheekbone, still wet with tears.

"My parents are getting a divorce. Makes for happy Christmas memories, no?"

"Francis, I'm so very, very sorry," Matthew replied, pulling the other boy into a hug. He held him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "It's already late. Let's drink our tea and then call it a night, okay? You'll feel a little better after some rest."

"Alright," Francis agreed. He didn't feel like talking about it, and he was grateful Matthew didn't expect it of him. The hot cup of tea was pressed into his hands, and he sipped at it slowly until it was nothing but dregs in the bottom of the cup. He felt a little more stable, and a little less like everything was falling apart. Matthew had found his pajamas in his luggage and now he knelt in front of him, undoing the buttons on his shirt with careful attention. He bit his lower lip slightly, as he always did when he was focusing very hard, and Francis leaned down to kiss him. It felt so good, so _right_, to have Matthew's lips against his own again that Francis nearly sighed in relief.

Matthew's fingers continued on their course, nimbly undoing his buttons until the garment could be pushed off his shoulders. Francis shrugged out of it, slanting his lips against Matthew's in a way that was both blissful and somber.

In a smooth motion, Matthew pulled off his own T-shirt, and crawled onto Francis's lap. The French teen held him there, his hands lightly skimming over the planes of Matthew's back in wonder. Matthew had never stripped in front of him before—always blushing and modest about nudity of any sort. Now, he pressed against Francis hungrily, until Francis could feel Matthew's heart beating parallel to his own.

Francis fell backwards, Matthew on top of him, over him and around him like a favorite blanket chasing away the chill of a cold night. Matthew began to kiss along his jaw and throat, speaking roughly and emotionally between each kiss.

"I missed you," he said, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the hollow of Francis's throat. "I love you," he whispered, adding another kiss to Francis's stubble-covered jaw. "And I'm not going anywhere," he promised, placing his last kiss upon Francis's lips.

"I should be happy," Francis whispered brokenly, his blue eyes filled with pain. "I should be happy that I'll never hear them fighting again…but all I can think of is when I was a little boy, and they'd take me to the park, walking on each side of me…and when I begged, they would swing me up in the air between them and smile at each other over my head. If you had seen those smiles, you would _know _how desperately they loved each other. So I don't understand how they could hurt each other so badly. I just don't understand," Francis said hollowly. Matthew pressed their foreheads together and cupped Francis's face, sharing little puffs of air with him.

"Everything…even love…has a time for ending, _mon cher_. We're not meant to understand why. All we can do is keep living, and loving, and starting over again when castles crumble."

Francis closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, summoning all the anger, mistrust, and despair into his lungs, and breathed it out as steadily as he could manage. Matthew kissed him again, and again and again, until Francis fell asleep to the gentle, comforting touches.

USUK

Alfred awoke late in the morning. Sunlight streamed through their large bedroom window and the snow was piled up on the window pane, glistening rather prettily. Alfred felt the urge to sneeze, and reached blindly for a tissue. One was pressed into his hand, and a second later, his glasses were gently placed on his face.

"Morning, Alfred. Feeling any better?" Arthur asked. He sat on Alfred's bed with his small feet curled up under him. Alfred's baggy t-shirt hung rather innocently off Arthur's slender shoulder, and his choppy blond hair was mused from sleep. In the grogginess one feels before fully awakening, Alfred decided Arthur looked very much like an angel who had just taken a tumble off his cloud.

Quite suddenly, Arthur leaned over him, allowing Alfred to smell the soap on his pale, unblemished neck. A blissfully cool hand pressed against his forehead.

"You still feel rather hot," Arthur diagnosed. A small moan of protest escaped Alfred's mouth when Arthur moved his hand away. "How about I get a cool rag for your head, hmm? Patrick should be back around in an hour or so. I don't really feel comfortable leaving you here. I don't think my mum would mind if I brought you home—just until you're back on your feet."

Alfred blinked sleepily, trying to process Arthur's words but not _truly_ hearing him, because Arthur was sitting incredibly close, and he'd rested his hand oh-so-casually on Alfred's thigh. What was worse, Arthur's thumb was moving in comforting little circles. Sick as he was, Alfred's skin tingled beneath his pajama pants. All in all, it was a very pleasant way to wake up in the morning.

But apparently not so pleasant for Arthur, who had to smell him.

"I'm going to draw a bath for you. Do you want the water warm or cool?" Arthur asked. Even though he felt hot, a cool bath didn't sound too appealing.

"Warm," Alfred croaked. His voice had gone hoarse during the night, and he sounded like an angry bullfrog.

"Warm it is, then. Just rest a bit, and I'll be back in a minute," Arthur said. Then he did it again—leaned over and placed a sweet, chaste little kiss on his forehead. Alfred could have said something about it if Arthur was blushing, or acting as if it was flirtatious, but he wasn't at all. In both instances, he'd continued on as if he'd done nothing out of the ordinary.

It almost made Alfred doubt it had happened at all. Was the fever making him delusional? While he pondered the possibility, he heard the tap begin to run and the sound of water splashing into the large, porcelain tub. Arthur was putting in bubble bath, and lots of it, if the aroma was anything to judge by. Alfred smiled, feeling very special. While he actually used more skin care and hygiene products than Arthur did, the royal took his bubble baths very seriously. Whenever Alfred got on his nerves excessively, Arthur would retreat to the bathroom and his mounds of bubbles, with a book and a hot cup of tea. He'd come out refreshed and his patience restored, but he was protective of his arsenal of bubble bath supplies.

Alfred had messed around with his rubber ducky once and nearly lost his arm.

Arthur returned after a few minutes, and helped him to sit up. At first, Alfred scoffed at the notion he couldn't do it on his own, but when he actually tried, his whole body felt like it was made of lead and jelly simultaneously.

Panting from the effort just to stay sitting, and to swing his legs over the side of the bed, Alfred knew he was going to need Arthur's help if he planned on going anywhere. Luckily, Arthur seemed quite determined to help him. He looped Alfred's arm over his shoulders without prompting and stood, carrying most of Alfred's weight.

"Sorry—I'm trying to stand, but—"

"Never you mind. Just lean on me," Arthur said. Alfred cracked a grin.

"Ha…that should be our song. Remember our friend song?" Despite his voice sounding awful and raspy, Alfred began to sing the immortal lines—"Lean on me…when you're not strong…I'll be your friend, and I'll help you carry on…"

"Unacceptable," Arthur said shortly.

"Wha? But why?" Alfred whined. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Because it's cliché and overrated, which doesn't describe our relationship," Arthur replied logically. Alfred seemed pained by the effort to think about it that much.

"I didn't expect you to analyze it—just a joke, Artie," he said with a small smile. They'd made it to the bathroom, and Alfred gratefully slumped against the doorframe, rasping heavily. Arthur smiled at him, his hands still bracingly held against Alfred's hips. Anyone that looked at them would have thought they were a step away from embracing. Arthur flashed an exaggerated 'I'm-laughing-at-your-stupid-joke' smile and, for a moment, Alfred was a little startled by just how beautiful Arthur's eyes were.

He blamed his moment of distraction on the fever.

Unfortunately, his fever-induced sappy appreciation of Arthur's unique green eyes cost him dearly. While he'd been busy smiling goofily at his shorter roommate, the assertive Brit had untied his pajama bottoms and given them a little tug. They dropped traitorously, revealing that he'd skipped on the underwear. His T-shirt just barely covered little Alfred, and the taller teen blushed so deeply that it was noticeable—even in his sick state.

Arthur's fake grin turned into a smirk that managed to be both innocent and cocky at the same time.

"What? You can't take a bath with your pants on. If you feel strong enough to undress yourself, by all means, don't let me stop you…" Arthur challenged. Slumped against the door frame as he was, with Arthur's hands keeping him stable, Alfred knew he was in no position to argue. Trying to control his blush (if Arthur could play it cool, then so could he) he weakly tugged one arm out of his shirt and let Arthur help him remove it.

If he'd been expecting Arthur to check him out, or giggle at his puny chest, or do anything at all negative, he was to be disappointed. With a completely neutral face (as if it were everyday he stripped Alfred down to help him into a bath) Arthur once ducked under Alfred's arm and helped him walk to the bath. He all but lowered him into it, too, getting his arms wet up to the elbows. The layer of bubbles was thick and concealing, and Alfred relaxed instantly once the hot water supported him and he was modest again. He slumped against the porcelain in bliss, his eyes closing and his jaw hanging loosely open as he breathed loudly through his mouth—nose completely stuffed up.

Then a washrag began trailing over him with gentle firmness, causing Alfred's eyes to shoot open in surprise. Arthur sat on the rim of the tub, not staring at anything in particular, just calmly washing him. Alfred tensed up, not knowing what to do or say, but not wanting to be rude when Arthur was only trying to help. Deciding to pretend it wasn't happening, Alfred closed his eyes again and let Arthur do as he pleased, with nervous butterflies erupting inside wherever Arthur scrubbed.

It was innocent enough as the rag smoothed over his arms and sides, his neck and face—even his shoulders—but then Arthur's hand (and the flimsy barrier of the rag) dropped lower, straight down his stomach to casually massage his belly. Alfred was thanking every god he could remember that he was too sick to get an erection. Even though his skin burned and his muscles weakly clenched in response, his prick didn't embarrass him.

"Err…Arthur…I don't really need—" Alfred tried to weakly protest. Arthur smiled in a way that was strangely predatory and gently tapped him on the nose, as if in warning.

"What's the point of a bath if you don't get clean, Alfred? Now don't fuss," Arthur said. And the rag slipped lower, to his inner thigh. No longer able to even _look_ at his roommate, Alfred stared at the ceiling, wondering how it was possible for the most embarrassing experience of his life to also be the most erotic.

'_Don't get hard. Don't get hard. Don't get hard,'_ Alfred chanted in his head, as the rag moved lazily under the water. The back of Arthur's hand kept oh-so-casually brushing against him, and it was torturous. Alfred's brain was about to shut down completely. _'This is so freaking weird! What the hell is he _doing_? He's gotta stop or else I'm gonna—'_

His own thoughts were interrupted by the movements of his traitorous body. Completely without his permission, his legs tightened around Arthur's hand and a needy moan escaped his lips. Panicking, Alfred hastily turned it into a cough. He lurched forward, fake-hacking, and tried to conceal his very obvious attempt to trap Arthur's hand against his cock.

Calmly, as if _nothing_ was out of the ordinary at all, Arthur gave his back a gentle pat and rested the dangerous rag casually on the tub, as if he were merely waiting for Alfred to finish hacking before returning to his task.

"Alright there, Alfred?" Arthur asked, his voice deeper and huskier than normal. Alfred closed his eyes tightly, as if by doing so he could shut out his roommate's rather distracting accent. Since when had Arthur's voice sounded like something out of a porno?

'_Stop thinking about porn!'_ Alfred's brain yelled, but it was no good. His only saving grace was that his body was too sick to respond as it usually would have, and so he was spared the mortification of getting a stiffy in response to his roommate's innocent washing.

And it had to be innocent, didn't it? After all, he'd hardly been able to get out of bed. It was natural for Arthur to assume he'd need assistance in the tub as well. Like a good friend, he was trying to downplay it and not tease him for needing help, but all Alfred could do was think dirty thoughts and pervert his roommate's intentions.

The rag was back again, with ruthless persistence. Alfred's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he nervously bit his lip. He tried to keep his mind perfectly blank, not thinking of anything at all, especially not the path of the rag and the hand. For a long while, the rag rubbed gently up and down his back, innocently enough. Alfred even relaxed again, his eyes drifting shut. His whole body was so tired and shaky—it was hard to stay upright, even.

Slowly, Arthur rubbed down a swathe of his spine, and massaged in tight little circles over his tailbone. Refusing to remember that he likely had the flu, Alfred's cock reluctantly rose to the occasion. His cheeks were _burning_, the pressure on his brain was nearly unbearable, and his muscles protested the arousal by seizing up and giving out on him, so that he slipped weakly down into the bath.

"Easy there," Arthur said, carefully hiding a grin. He scooped Alfred upwards, essentially hugging him in the process. Now Alfred wanted to grab the hand holding the rag and drag it downwards, to his half-hearted erection, where its dedication to rubbing would actually do some good. Instead, he let his head fall forward into Arthur's hair, which he nuzzled against like a cat. Arthur explained away the strange motion just as Alfred had explained away the washing he'd received.

"Too weak to even keep your head up? We might need to skip the house and go straight to a hospital," Arthur said. He actually sounded serious—the husky, almost playful tone was gone, replaced by one of concern. Alfred mentally berated himself. Now, Arthur thought his horniness was proof of life-threatening illness. How to explain that he wasn't _that_ sick, just inappropriately aroused? It was a hard thing to diagnose, after all—what with all his moaning, strange jerking movements, and general inability to control his body.

"I…I don't need…I'm fine, it's just…all the touching…" Alfred stuttered out, feeling like the ultimate idiot. Arthur would never look at him the same now. He was going to think he was a total freak, or a horn-dog. Alfred wasn't too fond of either option.

But there was no denying it. The bubbles were nearly gone now, and surely Arthur had noticed.

"Oh…well we don't need the hospital for that then, thank goodness," Arthur said crisply. Alfred's eyes bugged out in shock when, quite suddenly, (and for the first time ever) a hand other than his own was _touching_ his cock. Well, technically it was a rag, but said rag was held by his roommate, who despite admittedly having a thing for him, was acting as though this was a totally casual incident.

"Guh," was all Alfred managed to choke out as Arthur calmly and confidently pumped him in the warm water. The smooth motion of his hand made little splashing noises that slipped into Alfred's ears and made him grow even harder. He lost the ability to think, his entire body flushed with color, and he arched his hips weakly once, then again, before he came. Arthur extracted his hand from the water with complete casualty—he wasn't even blushing, for God's sake!—and let the water drain.

"I'll get you a towel. Just a moment," Arthur said. Gradually, the ability to think returned to Alfred and he blinked stupidly, staring vacantly at the tile mosaic in front of him. His first coherent thought was, _'This can't be real. I'm dreaming.'_

The realization he was dreaming made everything suddenly shift strangely, as if his body and his surroundings were merely playing cards, and some unseen hand had just shuffled them.

"Alfred?" Arthur was asking. He blinked—when had he closed his eyes?—and Arthur was peering at him with a light blush on his face.

"Arthur?" he asked dumbly. His roommate gave him a concerned look.

"You nodded off as I was washing your back. I…err…didn't realize you'd fallen asleep, but…" and then the reason for his nervous 'but' was apparent as it swirled incriminatingly down the drain. Alfred woozily cursed.

"I fell asleep?" he asked confusedly. "But it _felt_ so real," he protested. Arthur, still blushing, bit at his lip and looked everywhere except at Alfred's face.

"I don't think I want to even ask what…err…_felt_ real. Judging by what happened…I think I get the gist of it."

"I'm _so_ sorry," Alfred moaned. The water was nearly all gone now, his wet dream (ironic that it was called that, as he'd been literally wet this time) became obvious for what it was—he'd nodded off seamlessly in the tub and while the real Arthur had innocently scrubbed his back, naughty dream Arthur had jerked him off.

Breaking the awkwardness by laughing at him, Arthur dropped a towel over Alfred's dripping head, and rubbed his hair gently.

"Even with the flu, you have such a one track mind, Alfred. Maybe your body just thinks every time you get in the tub now you're supposed to cum?" Arthur suggested with barely concealed mirth. Alfred's already vibrant blush darkened even more. He thought he'd been discrete! He hadn't made any noise!

Clearly sensing his confusion, Arthur clued him in. "You sing in the shower, Alfred. Horribly, I might add. When you're…err…you know…you don't sing."

"Just let me die here, please," Alfred croaked weakly. Arthur laughed, peeking at him under the towel. His green eyes were sparkling in amusement.

"I'm sorry. You're sick and I'm giving you a terrible time of it. I promise not to tease you anymore till you have your pants back on."

"Arrrthuurrr!" Alfred whined, so embarrassed by this point that anything the Brit said made him want to curl up in a deep, dark little hole. Arthur just laughed, and once again looped Alfred's arm over his shoulders.

"Come on, up with you…though a certain part of you should most certainly stay _down_, if you please…" Arthur said, grinning wickedly.

"You said you'd leave me alone 'till I had pants!" Alfred retorted hotly, not even realizing how ridiculous he sounded saying such a thing in a babyish, whining voice. Arthur just laughed.

"So I lied. I think I'm entitled to my teasing considering how you've been using our _shared_ shower," Arthur retorted. Whatever Alfred might have tried replying was drowned out in a large string of hacking coughs. Despite the awkwardness, Arthur hauled him straight back to bed nude, and settled him under the warm blankets, taking the damp towel off his head and shoulders.

"Take another dose of medicine while I get you some clean clothes to wear," Arthur said.

Sinking into the cacoon of covers (and never wanting to re-emerge) Alfred listlessly reached for the medicine and emptied two tablets into his hand. He swallowed them dry.

Arthur returned to the bed with a clean pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and some thick socks. Alfred didn't comment on the lack of boxers, and (to complete his humiliation) he was forced to let Arthur help him get dressed. His energy was completely gone, and he felt himself slipping off into the land of sleep once again, his cheeks still burning.

Alfred sat nearby, merely watching him, a wicked little grin on his face. While Alfred's unexpected wet dream might have caused his memory of events to become muddled, Arthur had a clear understanding of what had just happened. While he certainly hadn't stroked little Alfred, he _had_ very deliberately washed Alfred's inner thighs and he knew, good and well, that Alfred had desperately wanted him to keep his hand right where it had been.

'_You can claim you don't want me 'till you're blue in the face, Alfred F. Jones, but your body tells the truth you can't handle yet,'_ Arthur mused tauntingly. Delighted with his new game of torturously teasing his roommate in every way he could think of, Arthur used the rest of the time he had before Patrick arrived to scheme.

USUK

The hospital in Beijing was a blur. He barely understood Chinese on a good day, and he had no fucking clue what everyone was saying around him in his current state. His rational mind told him he was in shock, due to the fact that he couldn't actually feel the pain of the bullet wound on his thigh. It didn't feel like it had hit a bone, and they seemed to be containing the bleeding easily enough, so he hoped that meant it hadn't nicked an artery either. It had been his uncle that had brought him and Yao to the hospital—Yao had been whisked off one way and he'd been taken off in a totally different direction. He knew Zakhar was somewhere close by, but he was currently alone with the hospital staff. He'd been given a pain killer intravenously, and he assumed that was why he felt like he was floating.

Of course, there wasn't a translator for Russian available, but in about an hour a doctor came to his small room and spoke to him in English.

"Can you understand me?" he asked.

"Da…yes," Ivan replied, having trouble focusing on him. He estimated it had been an hour and a half since he'd been brought in. His wound had been cleaned and stitched, his leg bandaged, and all the while the good stuff pumped steadily through his veins. He noticed Zakhar enter his room, silent and stone-faced. This was how Ivan knew he was furious at the situation—the angrier his uncle was, the blanker his expression became. Ivan had seen him break a man's fingers one by one without so much as twitching his mouth.

Ivan wondered where his scarf was, and then he remembered he'd tied it around Yao's wound. The doctor was still speaking to him, though he seemed to be struggling to find the words.

"The bullet did not hit bone—soft tissue only. Understand?" he asked. Ivan's confused look must have stretched across the language barrier, because the doctor tried a different approach. "Crutches, two weeks. Then rehabilitation exercise. Antibiotics by mouth. You need to fill out paperwork when they come. Understand?"

This time, Ivan nodded. The doctor left, and his uncle approached his bed side.

"They will pay in blood," he said simply. Ivan closed his eyes wearily, not particularly caring at the moment. Due to his quick thinking, he and Yao had survived both the wreck and the gang member who had tracked them afterwards. He had killed for the first time. He felt like he should feel something, but he felt nothing at all—blank like a sheet of pristine, white paper. His uncle cupped his shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Yao?" Ivan asked. Zakhar nodded.

"He is alive and well—a little shook up. I escorted him back home without any trouble. You killed for him…and for yourself. You are a man now," Zakhar said quietly. Ivan nodded, no longer able to resist the pull of the painkillers. He slipped quietly out of consciousness.

When he awoke again, several hours had passed. A pair of crutches had been brought to his room (adjusted to their maximum height, he noticed) and a nurse was removing his painkiller drip. Zakhar was still there, and now Yao's father was present as well. Though he had neither been friendly nor rude to Ivan, now he warmly shook his hand, eyes shining with gratitude.

"You have saved my son's life. I cannot thank you enough," he said emotionally. Ivan just nodded, a little disoriented by everything that was happening. The petite nurse and his uncle helped him to stand. He felt woozy, but his leg did not hurt as much as he anticipated. It felt numb, and only a throbbing pressure let him know that anything was different at all. He stood, but mostly his uncle lifted him, and he was lowered back down into a wheelchair. Yao's father held his crutches, and they took him out of the room.

"I'm being released?" Ivan asked in Russian.

"As best I can figure out. Your wound only hit soft tissue. You were very lucky, Ivan," his uncle said.

"And my shot?" Ivan asked. Zakhar flashed a chilling, bloodthirsty smile.

"Straight through the heart," Zakhar replied. The words sounded beautiful in Russian, and Ivan smiled a bit dreamily. It was good to know all his years of practice had not been in vain. When it had really counted, his aim had been true while his enemy's had not been—that was why he was going home, and his enemy was likely being stripped of his fingerprints and dumped somewhere, courtesy of the Russian mafia.

Zakhar signed some paperwork where Yao's father indicated, and they exited the hospital with little fuss. Outside, a slick black car was waiting for them. Once again, Zakhar easily lifted him into the backseat and the wheelchair was returned to the hospital. His new crutches went on the floorboards at his feet. Ivan stared at them with a sad little frown.

"Your leg will heal quickly. You will be healthy in no time," Zakhar promised. "I cannot say the same for those Triad corpses. _They_ will fill the dumpsters."

Ivan sighed, knowing the act of aggression against not only Yao, but one of their own members would incite a feud that would not abate anytime soon. That was always how these things went. Someone was killed, or hurt, and revenge spurned more revenge, until nobody was left.

There was a saying Ivan had heard while learning English that he'd always liked—an eye for an eye makes everyone blind. He idly wondered how Yao would feel about what had happened, and what Alfred would say when he returned to school with a gunshot wound. Would his life be the same now that he had killed a man? He didn't feel any different, aside from the throbbing in his leg and the slight headache annoying him.

The car pulled away, and Ivan remembered the crash, the horrible crunch of metal, the sight of the driver crumpled against the airbag bleeding from the head. He curled forward and vomited onto the upholstery. Zakhar cursed in Russian and the car pulled over on Yao's father's insistence.

"Is he okay?" the businessman asked. Ivan held his head between his knees, smelling the metallic tang of blood on his bandages, and the bitter stink of his puke. Zakhar pulled him up, looking into his pale eyes. Ivan didn't know what he was checking for, but he seemed to be satisfied when he didn't find it.

"You are just carsick," he said in Russian. "Toughen up," he added as an afterthought, releasing him. So much for being a man. Nervously, Yao's father told the driver to continue on. They pulled back out into traffic and a towel was found somewhere and passed back. Zakhar tossed it carelessly on his mess, still eyeing Ivan cautiously. They made it to Yao's home without further incident. Completely ignoring the dirtied crutches, Zakhar lifted him out once again and carried him bridal style into the house, up the stairs, and into the guest bedroom. Yao had appeared instantly, hovering at Zakhar's side. Once Ivan had been placed on the bed, Yao crawled up beside him.

"Are you okay? You were shot. I thought you were going to die," Yao whispered. His English was shaky, and some words sounded more like Chinese, but Ivan got the gist of it. He gently cupped Yao's milky white jaw and sunk his fingers into the Asian boy's satiny hair. Aware of Zakhar's eyes on him, he gave Yao's cheek a gentle pat and let his hand fall away.

"I am fine, but sleep would be good. Get some rest, Yao," Ivan said. Yao nodded, but before he left, he pulled the covers up over Ivan's large frame and tucked him in carefully. Having no excuse to linger, Yao left reluctantly, all the while under the watchful eye of Zakhar, who seemed quite unwilling to let his nephew out of his sight.

Once Yao was gone, Ivan cracked his eyes open once more.

"Phone?" he asked in Russian. His uncle stepped forward instantly, fishing Ivan's phone out of his pocket and handing it over. With smooth familiarity, Ivan opened the device and composed a simple text message to Alfred.

_**Just got out of the hospital—gunshot wound. Yao is safe.**_

He hit send and then allowed himself to truly drift off again.

**A/N: **Kind of a boring chapter, I suppose, but necessary to tie up all the drama that began last chapter. So Ivan is okay, and Alfred is _still_ horny as hell, and Francis and Matthew are back together? Maybe? Who freaking knows with those two. Yay for updates in the middle of the week, and thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed. You only have this chapter because I got a super awesome review that made me want to write immediately, lol. Oh, and I'm sorry for the dream scene. I hate when you're all into some smut and then it's like "Psych! That was a dream." Buuuuut…I figured Alfred is such a horndog that he'd totally have a wet dream about Arthur. :P


	22. The Sex Talk

Chapter 22

Yao waited until everyone was sleeping until he crept silently out of his bedroom and down the hallway. Ivan's door was closed, and he opened it as gently as he could manage. The curtain was drawn over the window, blotting out the light from the full moon.

"Ivan?" he asked softly. No response came. He slipped further into the room, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. Ivan lay in the center of the bed, his whitish-blond hair mused and sweaty. His head jerked slightly as he slept, as if he were having a terrible dream. Frowning, Yao crossed the room and didn't hesitate to crawl onto the other boy's bed. Tears began to flow down his cheeks at the sight of Ivan alive and well, though clearly pained. Yao felt like time had frozen since the attack. He knew days were slipping by—that Christmas had come and gone—but he felt like he hadn't spoken or moved since he'd caught Ivan's heavy body as it tumbled into bloody snow.

Ivan was the only person that could tell him it was over, that he was safe and everything would be alright. Many people had said the words to him since the attack, but Yao needed to hear them from Ivan to truly _believe_ they had survived. For a long time, he sat staring down at the boy who had saved his life by taking another's. Now he saw Ivan for what he was—a boy bred into thievery and extortion, with murder in his veins and crime in his blood. He was dangerous, dangerous in a way that Yao hadn't really understood before until he'd seen him lift his gun and fire, as casually as if he were blowing out a candle. Yao didn't even know how to hold a gun, let alone shoot one.

He'd seen guns in movies and on television. He heard about crimes and murders every day in the papers and in the news, but now it was different. Now it was _real_, and so many of his illusions of safety were shattered. As easily as pulling a trigger, a boy no older than himself was now hacked up and dead in a dumpster…and for what? He'd felt so important recruiting the aid of the Russians. He'd felt invincible as they swarmed around in the airport. There wasn't _really_ any danger. He'd been nervous to approach Ivan, but the thrill of it had excited him. He'd cared less about a gang that was threatening people he didn't even know, and more about the way Ivan would stare at him from across the room, like a predator.

It was just a game.

His hand hesitantly touched Ivan's cheek. It was ironic, because despite seeing just what Ivan was capable of—seeing how he'd been raised to think and survive—he had a remarkably angelic face. His cheeks were a little chubby, as if he'd never shed all his baby fat, and his blue eyes were so brilliantly pale that they seemed, at times, to be the color of lilac. He was painted in winter—all icy blue and frosty white.

"Yao?" Ivan asked roughly, his snowstorm eyes opening—thin, reluctant slits.

"Ivan," Yao replied softly, stroking his soft cheek. His mind filled with images of snarled metal.

"Are you…okay?" Ivan asked, groggy. Yao nodded. He closed his eyes to try and force out the memory, but it seemed to be linked to Ivan's voice, and the smell of his skin, and the feel of his body. Despite that, Yao curled up against Ivan's good side, burrowing his face into the other boy's chest. Ivan's arm settled around him and he placed a gruff kiss against Yao's forehead.

"Sleep. I will protect you," Ivan promised. Even though Ivan stirred up a hornet's nest of confused emotions inside Yao's heart, he was at least safe with him. But how safe could one truly be sleeping in the den of a wolf?

Because as terrifying as the crash had been, it was nowhere near as frightening as looking up at the boy he'd given his body to night after night, seeing him smile in a moment of blissful serenity as he killed another man. The blood from Ivan's leg wound had sprayed across Yao's face. He'd seen the other boy drop without any sound, and still Ivan smiled the smile he had given to Yao, as he pushed into his most intimate of places. Ivan smiled until his knees hit the snow and he passed out into oblivion, and Yao was left in the alley, with nothing but memories of that tainted smile for company.

He cried softly against Ivan's nightshirt, feeling like he would never see the world or Ivan in the same way ever again.

USUK

It was not Patrick who came to retrieve the boys from the school, but rather Arthur's father. Prince George was a stoic man of few words. He preferred a good book to human company most days, and had always shied away from the spotlight. He was not a favorite with the press due to his average looks and his introverted personality, but he was passionate about politics and served well as the Special Representative for international trade and investment—a job title Arthur wished to own himself one day.

While George got along best with his eldest boy Colin, he had a special place in his heart for Arthur, and worried about him far more than he let on. Due to his rather quiet nature, it was a surprise to everyone (except his wife) when he declared that he would go pick up Arthur and this boy he was so besotted with, in order to have some time to speak to them both about various subjects, the primary one on his mind being the topic of sex.

Of course, Arthur had no idea this was his father's intention, otherwise he and Alfred likely would have taken a bus home. But Arthur did _not_ know, and so he thought nothing of helping his best friend into the back of his father's expensive vehicle, while he slid into the front seat.

"How's Francis?" Arthur asked, after introductions had been made. Alfred was propped against his pillow, leaning against the tinted window and half-sleeping already.

"He calmed down considerably once his friend arrived. He even spoke a bit with Madeline this morning, though it's certainly still tense," George informed. Arthur frowned at the update, and glanced into the rearview mirror at his sickly crush.

"Alright back there, Alfred?" he asked. His roommate groaned weakly in response. They took off, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the car. Then George cleared his throat.

"So the two of you are dating?" he asked, as if it was a fact and he didn't really need to ask. Arthur spluttered, his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment. Alfred shot a confused glance at Arthur and then sneezed.

"_Daaad!_ We're _not_ dating!" Arthur replied in a whine. His father shot him a look that said, 'I wasn't born yesterday.'

"Right, well, regardless of how you define your relationship, I want to be very clear with you, Alfred, that Arthur is my youngest child, and as such, I worry about him more than I worried about his brothers. He's sensitive, like his mother—"

"Dad! Shut the bloody hell up!" Arthur pleaded. His father shot him a sharp look and gave him the reproach he'd been hearing all break.

"Arthur, watch your language."

"But dad, we _aren't _dating, and you're _embarrassing_ me! For god's sake, I'm nearly sixteen!" Arthur hissed in displeasure. In the backseat, despite being so under the weather, Alfred had an amused grin on his face. Completely ignoring Arthur, George continued.

"I've heard you're an athletic boy—on the rugby team and what-not, and I know that a social circle like that can put a lot of pressure on a young man to…what do you kids call it these days? Bugger, or is it bang? Regardless, I want to take this opportunity to establish a few things," Prince George said calmly and levelly.

"Please let me out of the car," Arthur requested. Alfred was biting on his lip to prevent himself from smiling.

"While you seem like a nice enough boy, Alfred, I want to be very clear that my son is not a trophy. You will treat him with respect and—"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Arthur whined, his face a lovely shade of dark red. He was glaring impressively at his father, who seemed completely immune and totally unruffled.

"—you will not put any pressure on him to do anything he isn't comfortable with. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Alfred replied respectfully. Arthur had sunk down into his seat, his face turned away and hidden behind his hand.

"If you do engage in any kind of sexual activity, I expect you to take the necessary safety precautions. While you don't have to worry about pregnancy, there are all sorts of transmittable diseases that I do _not_ want my son to contract. Any questions so far?" George asked, pausing as if he were conducting a business meeting, cool as a cucumber. Alfred coughed a few times and thought about it.

"What sorts of diseases?" he asked, perfectly innocent. Arthur turned around and scowled at him, clearly threatening to remove his balls with his bare hands once there was no longer a seatbelt to restrain him.

"Do _not_ encourage him," Arthur growled. Slightly cowed, Alfred blinked widely a few times and shrunk against his pillow.

"Arthur, be quiet unless you have a question," George said dismissively. Arthur shifted his glare to his father, and Alfred cracked a smile at how pouty Arthur looked. There was no other description for it: his roommate was absolutely adorable when he was pissy. It was great entertainment, and so Alfred decided to keep it going as long as possible. He sniffled a bit, and watched Arthur imitate a tomato.

"HIV, syphilis, gonorrhea…all sorts. Just be mindful and don't do anything that doesn't seem safe. I am perfectly aware that you are a young man, and that young men do not think much about long term commitments, but I expect you to _start_ thinking about it if you intend to date my son. Arthur has been raised in a traditional home where sex is only shared between people who love each other and plan to spend the rest of their lives together. What do you plan to do with yourself after graduating, Alfred?" George asked.

"You don't have to answer that," Arthur bit out. Alfred grinned at Arthur a moment before scratching his head idly.

"I've never really thought about it, sir. I plan to go to college, though," Alfred said. George nodded approvingly.

"That's a good choice. What subjects interest you?"

"Well, I used to hate math, but Arthur's been helping me out a lot this year and I'm getting pretty good at it," Alfred said. Relaxing somewhat, Arthur spoke up.

"He's a fantastic artist—not that it's any of _your_ business," Arthur said. His father nodded in consideration.

"I'm glad you have goals in life, Alfred. Arthur's mother and I expect whoever dates our son to be an intelligent, sensible young man who makes the right decisions and takes care of Arthur," George said. Alfred smiled sincerely, deciding he rather liked George. Sure, he was a bit clueless about teenagers, but he certainly seemed to have Arthur's best interests at heart.

"Just to be clear, sir, we really _aren't_ dating. Arthur's probably been nice and hasn't said anything about it, but I'm kind of a screw-up. I'm not good enough for a guy like your son. I'll make sure that whoever _does_ date him, though, treats him with the utmost respect. You can count on me to make sure he's okay. That's a Hero Club president guarantee!" Despite being so sick, this declaration hinted at Alfred's usual level of energy and cheerfulness.

George's lips twitched into a smile, and Arthur's mind was busy reeling over the casual, completely false statement Alfred had made about his self-worth.

"That's quite the impressive title for a supposed screw-up. What's this talk of a Hero Club?" George asked.

In between coughing and sneezing, Alfred proudly told Prince George all about the club he had started in order to help out his classmates and meet new friends. Even though Arthur had always thought the club sounded ridiculous, his father (who was quite eloquent when he chose to be) seemed to think it had real merit.

"It shows strong character that you have a desire to improve your community, Alfred. I'm very dedicated to that idea as well. It's a good sign when a young person thinks of others and not just of themselves. Even if your club has only handled romantic matters so far, it has plenty of potential to expand into new avenues of service," George said, taking Alfred's silly notions very seriously. Arthur was starting to feel a little bad about knocking Alfred's idea all term.

"Yeah! That's what I was thinking, too! By the end of the year, I hope we've gotten to do some stuff that really makes our school a better place. Not many people seem interested in it, though," Alfred said, sounding genuinely disappointed. George nodded and thought on the problem for a few moments before replying.

"Arthur claims you're talented with art—it sounds like your club simply needs a new design. How you package an idea is almost as important as the idea itself. Some new marketing could help lend credibility to your organization."

"That sounds like a pretty good idea," Alfred mused in the backseat. He yawned hugely. "It's been really cool talking to you, Mr. Kirkland, but I don't think I can stay awake much longer."

"That's fine, Alfred. Feel free to stretch out on the seat and get some rest before we arrive," George said. Alfred nodded, yawned once more, and repositioned his pillow on the seat. He was asleep practically before he stretched out. In a low whisper, so as not to disturb him, Arthur reproached his father.

"That was _completely_ unnecessary," Arthur said. George flashed the briefest of smiles.

"I know. I'm a fairly good judge of character. You're in good hands with this boy. I can go about my business now knowing you're safe and being treated well."

Not _quite_ as asleep as Arthur and George had thought, Alfred smiled a bit against the pillow. No adult had ever seemed impressed with him before, or talked to him as if his ideas were actually valuable. It made Alfred want to prove that he was deserving of George's good faith in him. He vowed to watch out for Arthur even more in the coming terms, to make sure that he stayed perfectly safe and happy.

It also made him wonder a rather dangerous thought: _'If Arthur's dad likes me…then maybe, if I work hard in school and get in shape, I could be good enough for Arthur…'_

Such were Alfred's thoughts as he drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of just how much Arthur believed Alfred was perfect just the way he was.

USUK

When Arthur, Alfred, and George arrived, the unofficial Christmas party was just beginning. Alfred was given George's usual armchair so that he wouldn't be coughing and sneezing on everyone. Matthew and Francis sat by the cheery fireplace, subdued and mostly just talking to each other. Occasionally, from across the room where she chatted with Mary, Madeline would shoot her son painful looks. Arthur pulled a footstool over towards Alfred so he could sit by him, unafraid of his germs.

Mary had seemed just as taken with Alfred as Arthur's father had, and fussed over him in a way that made Alfred blush and assure her repeatedly that he was feeling just fine. All the same, she brought him a thick, comfy blanket and a mug of hot tea, and Arthur saw to it that Alfred took his next dose of medicine as Patrick passed out presents. Arthur's pile was fairly large, but he didn't seem very interested in them. Instead, he was absorbed in conversation with Alfred, whom he hadn't seen in a week.

"Did you finish the book I left?" Arthur asked. Alfred coughed and nodded. He was wearing the hat Arthur had made for him, and it made Arthur's stomach flutter rather pleasantly to see him in it.

"It was pretty good. Mattie gave me a story, too, for Christmas. Why are you both always making me read?" Arthur ignored this question and turned his eyes curiously towards Matthew and Francis.

"I wonder if he and Francis…" Arthur trailed off suggestively. He'd whispered the question, leaning in towards Alfred conspiratorially as he did so. Alfred glanced (very obviously) at the two boys and considered how close they sat, and how Francis seemed to be drawing heavily on Matthew's strength.

"I'm guessing they're together again…so how did you dump him?" Alfred asked. Arthur had told him via text that he and Francis were split up earlier in the week, but they hadn't talked about it anymore, what with Alfred being distracted by his confrontation with his mother and then falling sick.

"He dumped me," Arthur replied, clearly annoyed. Alfred gave him a disbelieving look.

"Wow…didn't expect that. I figured you'd dumped him so he was crawling back to Matthew," Alfred said, revealing his rather low opinion of the French boy (which had started around the time that Francis started putting the moves on Arthur, coincidentally enough). Arthur frowned.

"Do you just want to hear me admit that you were right and I didn't mean anything to him?" Arthur asked, a little peevishly. Despite his annoyance, upon realizing that Alfred was about to sneeze, Arthur pulled a tissue from his pocket and offered it to him.

"I…I…_achoo_! That's not it, Arthur. I'm just surprised since I thought…well…I thought you could do better than Francis."

"Better than…?" Arthur echoed, his confusion obvious. This was the second time his friend had mentioned him in such a way—first claiming he was not good enough for Arthur, and now saying Arthur was too good for someone else. Arthur wanted to talk to him about it more, but his family was present and Colin's wife seemed very interested in whatever they were discussing. He decided to let it go for the moment.

"So aren't you going to open your presents?" Alfred asked. A little preoccupied now, Arthur nodded absently. Patrick came over with a glass of eggnog and plopped down beside him, rummaging through Arthur's presents to find the one he'd gotten for him.

"I know it's hard, Artie, but ignore your boyfriend long enough to open my amazing gift," Patrick said with a teasing grin. Arthur scowled primly and snatched the present. Alfred just smiled at Arthur's flustered expression.

Arthur opened the present delicately, not ripping into the paper as Alfred would have done, to reveal a stack of several CDs.

"It was awesome that you liked that song in the car the other day, because I wasn't sure if these bands would be your kind of music," Patrick said. Arthur smiled as he flipped through the covers, some of which were quite hardcore looking. Alfred looked a little surprised by Arthur's interest in them.

"Thank you, Patrick. Did you open mine?" Arthur asked. Patrick beamed.

"Yeah! It's great!" Patrick replied. "Thanks, little bro," he said, before walking off to go converse with Dylan about the present he'd gotten for him.

"What did you get him?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, just some stuff for his favorite football team. I'm afraid my gifts were rather predictable this year."

"I got Mattie a gallon of maple syrup," Alfred said. Arthur chuckled.

"You're rather…_creative_…with your gifts, aren't you?" Arthur said, in a fond sort of way. His thoughts trailed to Pinky. "I'm afraid…because of everything going on that night…I didn't properly thank you for my present," Arthur said, a light blush darkening his cheeks. Alfred smiled softly at him, and weakly reached over to ruffle his hair.

"I'm glad you liked it," Alfred said. Arthur was about to reply, but his mother came over to thank him for the scarf he'd made for her. Since she was there, Arthur opened several presents from his parents (books, clothing, and a new cell phone). As he opened his presents, Mary talked more with Alfred.

"Feeling any better, dear?" she asked. Alfred gave a weak nod.

"Yes ma'm. Thank you for letting me stay," he said. Mary smiled at him and fussed with the blanket that was covering him.

"I suggest you feel better soon, Alfred, or mum will tuck you in so thoroughly you won't be able to ever extract yourself," Colin joked, coming over to see Arthur open his gift. Alfred grinned at the fact that he _was_ rather tightly wrapped now. He wiggled a bit until he could get his arm free and took another sip of tea. It didn't taste particularly good (he was not a fan of tea like Arthur was) but it was hot and soothing on his throat.

Arthur's gift from Colin turned out to be a rather nice chess set. Arthur seemed surprised by it and instantly fond of the smooth wooden contours and the delicately carved pieces.

"Now you can practice with Alfred, and maybe one of you will be a challenge to me next time I see you," Colin said. Arthur smiled and gave his brother a half-hug.

"Thank you, Colin. This _almost_ makes up for you outing me," Arthur joked. His eldest brother grinned knowingly at his mother.

"See? I _told_ you he'd hold a grudge all week," he said. Mary rolled her eyes at her boys and smoothed Alfred's hair with a motherly pat before moving on to watch Dylan open his presents. Dylan had gotten Arthur a gift card to a men's clothing store, which Arthur discreetly rolled his eyes at.

"He _knows_ I hate that shop," he whispered to Alfred. "All of their pants are too long on me, and he delights in teasing me about being too short for their clothing when mum takes us shopping there."

"Ass," Alfred whispered back conspiratorially. Then, with a mischievous grin, he added, "Want me to go cough up something nasty on him?"

Arthur chuckled and then caught Dylan's eyes across the room. He held up the gift card and nodded in thanks. It was obvious the whole exchange was a little awkward and tense between them. His presents dispensed with, Arthur separated from Alfred long enough to go check on Francis.

"Are you feeling any better?" Arthur asked. Francis casually took Matthew's hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

"Thank you for getting Matthew. I feel like shit…but not as bad as before. I talked to my father on the phone a little earlier, and at least that went better than my conversation with my mother," he said. Matthew leaned against Francis's shoulder, resting his head on the other boy casually and tilting his head back to sweetly peck Francis's cheek. Arthur blushed a bit at the obvious gesture of affection. It felt a little awkward, considering just a few days ago, he and Francis had been dating essentially to make Matthew jealous.

"Err…so I suppose you two are back together?" Arthur asked. Matthew glanced at him and gave him a soft smile. Francis nodded, and looped his arm around the other boy's shoulders.

"I'm sorry for my behavior towards you, Arthur. It was not what it should have been," Francis said. Arthur blinked in surprise. He _knew_ Francis must really be feeling down if he was being so formal and sincerely apologetic. Arthur didn't like it.

"Why are _you_ apologizing? I'm the one who used you. You think I really wanted to date you and deal with your hair clogging up my shower for the rest of my life? Not to mention tasting secondhand all your nasty French food," Arthur groused. A familiar spark lit in Francis's eyes and he scowled at him.

"My hair does not do something as crude as _clog_. You confuse me with yourself, you short little balding—"

At the same time, both of their mothers chimed in with a reproach of, "Boys!"

Not at all chastened, they grinned playfully at each other.

"Get your boy to bed, Arthur. Your father will be displeased if he dies in his favorite armchair," Francis joked, nodding his head towards Alfred. As soon as Arthur had left him, Alfred's head had dropped against the chair and he was either very close to sleep or had already passed out. Arthur sighed affectionately and said his goodnights to his visiting friends.

"I think Alfred's at his limit on Christmas cheer. I'm going to help him get to bed," Arthur said, addressing his family. "Thank you all again for my gifts," he added. His father set aside the mystery novel he'd just been given and offered to help, but Arthur waved him off. He fully intended to take Alfred to his own room, and he didn't want his father (in a reoccurrence of his strange, protective mood) to try and drag Alfred into a guest room.

"Come on, Alfie, wake up. You need a proper bed for the night," Arthur said. Alfred blinked awake, seemingly surprised that he'd fallen asleep.

"Oh! Sorry, Arthur," he said with a sniffle. Arthur helped him out of the blanket and pulled him up, ducking under the other boy's arm. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and down a few hallways, till they reached Arthur's bedroom.

"You should get some go-karts here, to get to all the different rooms. This house is freakin' huge," Alfred said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I _am_ a prince. We tend to live in castles," he replied. Alfred grinned.

"Does that make me the damsel in distress right now?" he asked. Arthur was practically carrying him by this point, as Alfred had used most of his strength on the stairs.

"I'd say you're more of a dragon, considering the nasty stuff you're spewing into the air," Arthur replied.

"Awesome. Dragons are super-super awesome," Alfred replied, beginning to sound a little loopy. Arthur grinned and finally got them into his bedroom, where he'd already put Alfred's things. He settled his roommate on the bed and took off his sneakers for him. He was already essentially wearing pajamas, so aside from helping him unzip and remove his overcoat, Arthur had little to do except tuck him in again.

"I should put on my headgear," Alfred said in the saddest tone of voice Arthur had ever heard. He rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense. You're sick. You can start wearing it once you're feeling better," he ordered, as he went about changing into his own pajamas. Alfred had happily curled up on his favorite pillow, his eyes already drifting shut. Arthur slipped into bed beside him. For a moment, he maintained a gap between them, but then (with darkening cheeks) he remembered his plot to seduce the other boy. Blushing rather hotly, Arthur pretended to be rolling over in his sleep, scooting closer to Alfred as he did so.

In the darkness, Alfred flashed a little half-smile, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I know you like to cuddle, you big softie. If you don't mind that I'm sick, I don't mind being your personal heater," Alfred said, lifting his arm invitingly. With a happy smile (and feeling rather glad that he didn't have to pretend it was an accident) Arthur wiggled backwards until he was snugly against his roommate's chest, the other boy's arm draped over his middle. Both of them comforted by the closeness, they fell asleep quickly.

**A/N: **Okay, so lots of pretty awesome news! You might have noticed the update during the middle of the week. That was due to the fact that I no longer have my second job, and so I have free time again, like a normal person! Look forward to more frequent updates, though I do have quite a bit to do today so I wouldn't expect another chapter until tomorrow.

But the BEST news is that a reviewer, the awesome Cat'akai, made fanart for this fic! It's got Pinky! (which made me squee) You can check out the awesome-ness here: cat-milk-akai(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/usxuk-195001497 / (replace (dot) with . and remove spaces.) A huge thanks for all the encouragement and constructive criticism from you guys—I'm totally in love with sharing this story with you all, and it makes me super happy that you like it.

**Oh! A note about the beginning of this chapter, before I forget! I doubt anyone will be upset with Yao's reaction to the shooting, but I just wanted to say that (in going for a more realistic tone) I wanted to show how shaken up Yao was about the gun. I've been a victim of an armed robbery before, and it really does rattle you to actually _see_ a gun so close and realize how easily it could end your life. I know in movie-land Yao should be all 'Oh, yay, you saved my life! I love you forever!' but, from personal experience, shootings are scary scary shit and it kind of messes you up. So, please keep that in mind as I progress with Yao and Ivan's story! I know not everyone has had that experience, so I didn't want Yao to be judged too harshly for what's coming in the next parts.


	23. A Stolen Kiss and Revolutionary Feelings

Chapter 23

Arthur awoke slowly, vaguely aware that there was sunshine on his face and that he was cuddled up against his roommate's chest. Alfred was breathing noisily through his mouth, lightly snoring. The air in the room was cool, but Alfred's body heat and the cocoon of covers created just the right amount of warmth. Feeling lethargic even after a long night of restful sleep, Arthur just wanted to lie in bed forever.

More specifically, he wanted to lie in bed with Alfred forever.

He snuggled a little closer, soaking in the moment and trying to remember the way it felt. He'd shared a bed with Alfred twice before, but on both occasions alcohol had been involved, and they'd both ended rather awkwardly in the morning. So far, however, this was perfect. He toyed a bit with a button on Alfred's flannel top and wondered how he'd fallen so hard and fast for the other boy. Just six months before, Alfred hadn't even been a part of his life. Now so many of Arthur's hopes and dreams hung on the other boy's words and feelings. He loved to watch Alfred play rugby, loved to share books and movies and games with him, loved to walk down the halls to class sharing inside jokes, and loved being his best friend.

He simply loved Alfred—there was not much point in trying to deny it anymore.

Alfred was so confused though, about his parents, about his sexuality, and even about his own body. He was certainly awkward and far from traditionally attractive, but Arthur loved him because Alfred was the first person to really bring him out of his shell. No matter how unlikely the match, the two of them connected as if it _were_ some sort of fairytale.

But Alfred hesitated. He resisted, even as he gave in. His words sent one message and his actions sent another. His views on things seemed to change rapidly and without warning. For Arthur, who was more adept at knowing his own heart and feelings, it was almost painful to watch Alfred stumble so blindly through the process of growing up. Arthur knew he would make Alfred happy if Alfred would just give him a chance—give _them_ a chance.

Arthur sighed. He couldn't force anything on Alfred, and while he might be confident enough to sneak in a few bold touches here and there, he knew he would never be brave enough to ask Alfred out when he was fairly certain he'd be rejected. His best hope was to talk about his new suspicions regarding why Alfred didn't want to be in a relationship with him, and find out just what was making him so hesitant. Was it just a low opinion of himself? Did he truly have a crush on someone else? Arthur was at a bit of a loss trying to get inside his roommate's head.

No longer able to suppress his need for the restroom, Arthur sat up half-way so that he was gazing down on Alfred's sleeping face. He stared a bit at the other boy's closed lids, imagining in his mind the brilliant, sky blue eyes that made his heart race. Alfred's nose was straight and well-shaped, and he had hints of his mother's beauty in his face—strong cheekbones and an angular jaw, but these features were hard to notice because of the baby fat that still lingered in his cheeks. Sure, his skin was a little spotty and (courtesy of his mother) his mouth was a little less appealing than it had been before, but all in all, Arthur thought Alfred was quite attractive. He really didn't see why the girls treated Alfred so harshly. Sure, he was on the thin and puny side, but how many fifteen year olds were ripped and beefy? Arthur was thin, too, and he was short on top of all that. At least Alfred was tall, and probably still growing.

Nibbling his lip a bit in hesitation, Arthur decided to just go for it. He leaned down slowly, carefully keeping his eyes open in case Alfred suddenly woke up, and just barely brushed his lips over Alfred's. Feeling like a thief, Arthur quickly left the bed and hid in his bathroom, his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage.

The stolen kiss tingled on his lips and the adrenalin rushed through his veins, and Arthur began to feel excited a bit further south. He leaned against the bathroom door, his eyes closing as his hand slid down his flat stomach and over his hardening member. He thought of Alfred touching him, Alfred's bare skin pressed against his own. He thought of wrapping his legs around the other boy and feeling Alfred's cock against his arse…

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice said rather suddenly from the opposite side of the door. Arthur's eyes slammed open wide and he realized his hand was in his pants, and he'd been working up a rather nice rhythm stroking himself. Had he been making noise? Did Alfred know what he was doing?

Arthur's cheeks burned. He waddled a bit away from the door and hastily turned on the bath tap.

"Yeah?" he called. Alfred clearly heard the water and spoke a little louder to be heard over the noise.

"Lemme in. I gotta pee super bad," Alfred croaked. He still sounded terrible. Arthur wasted a second trying to will away his erection, but realized with dread that it wasn't going anywhere. It was pretty rare that he indulged in a good wank (not like Alfred, who seemed to beat it just as often as he showered these days) so when he _did_ get excited, it wasn't a problem he could just ignore. Hastily, Arthur tore his clothes off and jumped into the shower.

"I was just getting in the bath—just give me a minute," Arthur replied. Embarrassingly, his voice cracked as he said this, mostly due to nerves. Once behind his shower curtain, he slouched a bit in relief. "O-okay!" he called out.

Hesitantly, the door opened. Arthur could hear his roommate crossing rather quickly to the toilet, which he used and flushed. The lukewarm water that had been cascading down Arthur's body instantly turned cold, and Arthur hissed and jumped out of the spray, losing his footing in the process.

"Fuck!" he cursed as he slipped, grabbing onto nothing but the shower curtain, and (naturally) pulling the whole thing down, rod and all. Since the toilet was right next to the shower, he landed in a tangle on top of Alfred, who still had his pajamas undone and seemed highly alarmed to find himself on the ground beneath a wet shower curtain and a very wet, very nude Arthur. Arthur had tumbled over the edge of the tub backwards, and so he had landed in a sprawl—very much on display for his roommate's hungry eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The water continued to run, and Arthur simply tried to assess if he'd broken anything. His ankle hurt, and the backs of his calves throbbed from where he'd impacted and fallen over the wall of the tub, but nothing seemed broken.

The shower rod had landed somewhere around his lower back, and so the curtain covered Alfred up quite nicely, but it did nothing for Arthur, who was slowly turning a violent shade of red as he realized just what his roommate was gaping at over his shoulder. Arthur squeaked in embarrassment (which he would later deny) and fumbled with the shower curtain in an attempt to cover himself. He only succeeded in turning over on Alfred's lap, and accidentally bumping foreheads with the other boy.

Despite the pain they were both in, their bodies realized they were free of any restrictive clothing for the most part, wet, and one of them was entirely nude.

"Fuck it," Arthur cursed again, before pushing forwards and sealing his lips against those of his startled roommate. Alfred let out a needy moan in agreement and kissed back. It was not a pleasant taste, as neither of them had brushed their teeth, and they were already aching from the tumble they'd just taken, but the barrier between them had finally been smashed. Arthur's hands coiled tightly around Alfred's neck and Alfred's hands landed firmly on Arthur's bony hips. Arthur nipped at Alfred's lips as the taller boy's lovely, callused hands squeezed and caressed Arthur's sides and back. They were both aroused now, and one of Arthur's hands dropped to push away the shower curtain. Discarded in a jumble at their feet, Arthur arched his hips against Alfred's flannel clad belly, moaning at the friction. Alfred's face pressed into the juncture between Arthur's neck and shoulder, and he panted against Arthur's bare skin as he found his own grinding rhythm.

With a chorus of grunts and a few harshly whispered exchanges of each other's names, the two boys finally—_finally—_reached satisfaction. It had taken an embarrassingly short amount of time, but neither of them had ever jerked off in such a way, and the thrill of someone else being present made the mutual orgasms that much more intense. Breathing as if he'd just run a marathon, Alfred panted heavily against Arthur's chest.

"_Please_ tell me I wasn't dreaming this time," Alfred croaked. Arthur laughed, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd just jerked off against his roommate, while they had kissed and embraced. Oh, and there was the tiny matter of his lack of clothing. The room was full of steam, and Alfred's glasses were completely fogged over.

"You weren't dreaming. That most _certainly_ just happened," Arthur replied weakly. He knew he should probably feel embarrassed, but he was too elated, too perfectly happy to be nude and satisfied in Alfred's arms that he just couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted to go straight back to bed, this time without pajamas at all, and kiss for hours and explore Alfred's body with his hands and tongue.

He was just about to suggest that idea when Alfred began to stammer something below him, his cheeks a fiery red.

"I'm…I…I don't know what I…s-sorry! I shouldn't have—but you—just let me up!" Alfred stuttered. His voice grew more and more desperate, and Arthur moved quickly to give him the space he demanded, seeking refuge once more in the folds of the curtain. Alfred stumbled to his feet, adjusting his pajama bottoms, looking completely drained and exhausted, and hobbled out of the bathroom as fast as he could manage. He closed the door firmly behind him.

Arthur sat for a long few moments simply panting lightly, trying to figure out what had just happened, and then cursed and banged his fist against the lip of the tub in frustration. Whatever it had been, it was certainly _not_ a good sign that Alfred had run away.

USUK

Alfred sat on Arthur's bed with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to collect himself. He'd just done something very intimate with Arthur—far more than just a kiss or a grope. He saw the evidence on his nightshirt and winced, pulling the garment off and balling it up. He stood and paced a bit, wanting to run away from Arthur's bedroom, but knowing he was essentially trapped. He couldn't say _why_ Arthur made him feel like panicking, but he did, and Alfred was working himself up into a tizzy when the bathroom door opened to reveal his roommate in nothing but a towel around his hips. Arthur looked very unsure and remorseful, as if he knew he'd done something he shouldn't.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have surprised you like that," Arthur said, purposefully keeping his voice calm. Alfred wasn't always the best at identifying his emotions, but as his head cleared, he was starting to feel anger bubble up inside him—not necessarily at Arthur, but at the situation.

"I wasn't ready for that," Alfred said bluntly, his cheeks coloring. Arthur bit his lip and winced.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I just lost my head for a moment. You seemed to be enjoying it, so I—"

"Of _course_ I enjoyed it, but that _wasn't_ supposed to happen. We aren't supposed to have our first kiss when I've got the flu and I'm taking a morning piss!" Alfred protested. "And your dad said—"

"Alfred, my father was being ridiculous! We can do whatever we—"

"I wanted it to be perfect! I wanted to be different, better, and I wanted it to be in the library, since you love the library, and I was going to do it _right_. But it's all messed up now!" Alfred half-shouted. Finally losing the gist of the conversation completely, Arthur tangled his fingers in his hair and closed his eyes tightly, trying to calm down, or suddenly gain the ability to understand what the _fuck_ his crazy best friend was going on about.

"Okay. Just…sit down. We clearly need to talk," Arthur demanded. He tried not to let it hurt his feelings when Alfred chose to sit in the armchair instead of beside him on the bed. At least he seemed to be willing to listen. "Ever since you came here, you've been making all these little comments about how you're not good enough for me, and I want to know what you mean by them," Arthur said determinedly.

Alfred shifted in his seat uncomfortably, his arms wrapped protectively around his bare stomach.

"I…I like you, okay? It's more than just wanting to sleep with you. I can accept the fact that I'm attracted to guys now. I can handle the dreams and the fantasies and the weird crushes I've been getting, but I'm not ready to _be_ with you. I shouldn't have to be explaining this—you should _know_. For god's sake, Arthur, you're on the cover of at least two girly teen heartthrob magazines right now. I know you are because I bought them from the stupid gas station! Why would someone like _you_ want someone like _me_? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Alfred…I knew you didn't think very highly of yourself, but I didn't know it was this bad. What can I say to convince you that you're the one I want? Instead of telling me who I'm allowed to like and who I'm not, why don't you just let _me_ decide what I find attractive and special?" Arthur said. He closed the distance between them and tangled his fingers in Alfred's hair.

"I don't want some fantasy version of you. It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want _you_, just as you are." Arthur leaned down and pressed a kiss against Alfred's forehead. He drew on all his courage and let out a shaky breath. "Alfred, do you remember the first day we met? You told me even then—you were going to make me love you. By some utterly strange twist of fate, that's just what you've done. All I want is to be with you. I know I'll make you happy. You're confused, and I _get_ that, but I can figure it out for the both of us, okay? Please…say you'll be my boyfriend," Arthur asked quietly.

Alfred tilted his head up, staring deep into Arthur's eyes, desire and denial battling each other in his expression…and then his cell phone rang.

"Don't answer that," Arthur said, but it was too late. Alfred had wormed past him and gone to his bag, where he fished out his phone. He glanced over his shoulder rather guiltily at Arthur.

"It's Ivan. I'm just gonna answer real quick…I need to clear my head, okay?" he said, before grabbing a random T-shirt out his bag and leaving the room.

Arthur held it together until the door closed after the other boy, and then he sunk into the armchair, frustrated tears slipping out and sliding down his cheeks. He waited without moving for Alfred to come back inside, to return his confession of love, to be his stupid bloody hero…but the door stayed firmly shut.

Arthur sat for a long while trying to recover his defenses. He carefully wiped the tears off his cheeks and stood, returning to the bathroom, where he went through his typical morning routine with calm precision. When it was done, he returned to his room and neatly re-packed all of Alfred's things inside his bag. Bracing himself, he lifted the baggage out and took it downstairs. Patrick was finishing up breakfast in the kitchen and called out to him as he passed, but Arthur ignored him. He put Alfred's bag by the door, and pulled out the money that was in his wallet. Leaving the cab fare on top of the bag, he flipped his phone open and called for a cab.

He then, very calmly, sent a text message to Alfred:

_**Your shit is in the hall and a cab is coming. Get the fuck out of my bloody house.**_

He hesitated only a second before pressing the send button. Patrick had come out of the kitchen now, staring after him worriedly, but Arthur still ignored him. He passed Matthew on the stairs, who peered confusedly down at Alfred's bag.

"What's going on?" he asked. Arthur ignored him, too. Francis, who'd been coming down after Matthew, tried to grab his shoulder, but Arthur shoved him rather violently in response.

"_Don't_ fucking touch me!" he growled, stomping the rest of the way up the stairs and into his room. He slammed the door, and it echoed loudly through the house with a satisfying bang.

USUK

Matthew finally found Alfred sitting on a bench in a snowy courtyard, staring at the dry water fountain with a faraway look in his blue eyes. He seemed suddenly older—less boyish and naïve. Alfred didn't protest when Matthew sat beside him. They had one day of vacation left, and students had been trickling back into the school all afternoon. It was a new year now, but it already felt tarnished and tired.

Alfred's things were already unpacked in Ivan's room. Matthew was fairly certain Alfred and Arthur hadn't spoken since their argument at Arthur's house, nearly six days previous. New Years had come and gone with little fanfare. Matthew had come back to campus once earlier in the week to find Alfred, but Alfred hadn't wanted to be found. Matthew had reluctantly returned to Arthur's house. He and Francis had gone into London for New Years, but Arthur had stayed locked up in his room, still in a rather pissy mood that was beginning to make everyone, even his mother, keep their distance after it grew almost unbearable to be around him.

"Hey," Matthew said softly. Alfred glanced at him briefly, but then went back to staring at the fountain.

"Hey," he said. Matthew bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking if Alfred was okay. Such a question seemed kind of stupid. He also didn't want to ask what happened, because if Alfred told him (as Arthur had) to stay out of it, he wasn't sure what his response to that should be. So he sat, and stared at the fountain.

"I don't think I should have come here. It was a mistake," Alfred said quietly.

"Because you met Arthur?" Matthew asked. Alfred sighed.

"Because I finally started figuring out who I really am…and I don't like what I'm finding," Alfred said. Matthew blinked a bit in surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Alfred shifted on the bench, curling one knee up to his chin. He hid his face against it.

"I've spent my whole life trying to make my parents proud, to be this image I had of what they wanted, but now I don't even answer their calls. I care about Arthur so much, but he wants me to be a person I hate being. I hate how I look. I hate how I fail at everything. I don't want to be Arthur's pet loser. I can't let him love _me_ because…because…" Alfred trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Because you have to love yourself before you can let someone else love you? Arthur can't be the one to give you self worth. You need to find that on your own."

"Yeah…something like that," Alfred replied. After a long silence, he added, "I didn't expect him to wait for me…but I told him I wasn't ready yet. I didn't want to mess up our friendship. But I guess our friendship meant more to me than it did to Arthur—I wasn't willing to risk it, but he was."

Matthew wrapped his arm around Alfred's shoulders and leaned against him, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"I think…you're just in different places. It's nice when everything ties up in a neat little bow, but it doesn't always work out like that. The strings get tangled, and crossed, and while you're trying to loosen knots, others keep tightening."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed glumly.

"But it's a New Year, eh? We're a little wiser and a little tougher. We'll be okay, and we'll figure it out somehow. We might just have to make it up as we go along," Matthew said with a small grin. Alfred half-heartedly returned it.

"I don't really know what love is, but I know I care about Arthur more than anyone else in the world. I just can't be who he wants me to be right now," Alfred said quietly. Matthew's grin turned soft and gentle.

"If he truly loves you, he'll have to let you go. If it's meant to be, you'll find your way back to him. Now…I don't know about _you_, but I think we should start having our heart to hearts in places with less snow. How about a cup of my famous maple syrup hot chocolate?" Matthew asked with a grin. Alfred rolled his eyes, but stood, dusting the snow off his clothes.

"Alright, you crazy Canadian…but you better have tons of rainbow marshmallows."

"You know I keep them in stock just for you," Matthew replied. Feeling just a little bit better about the year to come, Alfred left the courtyard with Matthew, idly wondering as they walked if Arthur would still love him if, or rather when, he was ready to be loved.

**A/N: **Alright! So, that officially ends their first semester! Sorry the chapter is brief, but it was another of those 'I don't want to add this on here, but I don't want to keep going after this scene' sort of deals. Lol, I keep all the really important chapters short. :P Oh, and not that this story is perfectly cannon by any means, but this chapter is supposed to loosely represent the revolution. :] Sorry for all the angst!


	24. New Year, New Changes

Chapter 24

"It's badass looking, man," Alfred said admiringly. Ivan carefully replaced the bandage, a proud smirk on his face.

"So are you going to tell me why your shit is in my room?" Ivan asked, still smirking. Alfred shrugged.

"Do you care that I'm here?" he asked. Ivan shook his head.

"No, but if I bring someone here, you better find somewhere else to be, da?"

"Sure," Alfred replied easily. "What's your rehab like?"

"Just walking with the crutches for another two weeks, and then I can do some mild exercise. The doctor I saw this morning gave me some stretches I can do," Ivan said.

"I bet Yao is pretty shook up," Alfred said. Ivan's rather cheerful look darkened.

"…da," he finally said, in a voice that implied it was worse than that.

"You aren't gonna ask about Arthur and me?" Alfred said after a few moments. Ivan flashed him a cheerful smile.

"I don't really give a fuck," Ivan said. "Unless you want to beat the crap out of him for cheating on you," Ivan said. Alfred scowled.

"He didn't cheat on me—we weren't even together. Why do you assume he'd cheat on me?" Alfred asked, flushing with color in embarrassment. It was something he had thought likely, too, but he just didn't want to admit it.

"Because you don't know what your dick is for. You're always crying and whining," Ivan pitched his voice higher, obviously imitating Alfred, "I don't know who I am. I don't know whether I want to fuck my mommy or my roommate." His voice dropped to its normal register, "Just fuck _someone_ and you'd be a lot better off," Ivan advised with a cheerful wink. Surprisingly, Alfred chuckled reluctantly and tossed his pillow at Ivan, who swatted it away playfully.

"You're such an ass, you know that?"

"Da…but you and me will have fun, no? We can get drunk and cause trouble."

Alfred grinned at his rebellious friend, finding his coarseness refreshing after feeling so vulnerable and emotional all break.

"Well, you got the alcohol?" Alfred asked challengingly. Ivan chuckled.

"Something's different about you. Why do you want to get wasted at four in the afternoon?" Ivan asked. Alfred frowned.

"What? Don't think you can handle it with that bum leg of yours?" Alfred asked. Ivan's teasing grin faded.

"You're serious, aren't you? Well…a Russian never turns down a drinking challenge. Da. Let's get plastered. We haven't seen each other in two weeks. I got shot. I killed a man. I'll fucking drink to that," Ivan said. He pointed Alfred towards the bag that had his alcohol stash.

"Are you worried about the police?" Alfred asked. "I mean, it was in self-defense, but if they catch you…"

"They won't catch me. My uncle knows how to make a corpse disappear. I have to say, though…I thought you would be pissed at me, or scared, or both…like Yao," Ivan said darkly. Alfred met his eyes squarely, determined to show no fear.

"You did what you had to do, Ivan," Alfred said. Ivan took a swig of the alcohol Alfred passed him.

"And if I enjoyed it?" he asked. Alfred took the bottle, matching him swallow for swallow.

"That's a little fucked up," Alfred said. Ivan took the bottle.

"But you'll drink with me anyway?" Ivan confirmed with a smirk. Alfred nodded, a new, reckless look in his vibrant blue eyes.

"My parents don't want me to be your friend, but I want to be less…less…"

"Less of a pussy?" Ivan suggested, chuckling. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I want to be my own man," he said. "So here's to that," he added, taking a bitter swallow. Ivan smiled, always finding Alfred intriguing and endlessly entertaining. He took another swig.

"You need to get laid," Ivan assessed.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed.

"And all that metal mess in your mouth makes you look like you swallowed a fucking bear trap."

"Brave enough to stick your cock in?" Alfred shot back. Ivan laughed, long and hard.

"I have a feeling…that this is going to be a _bad_ semester, my friend."

"Yep," Alfred agreed, before tilting the bottle back once more. "Your turn…if you can keep up, that is," Alfred said. Ivan grinned, and took the now half-empty bottle.

"You better fucking believe it," Ivan replied.

USUK

Matthew unpacked the last of his clothing into the dresser, glancing out the window as he did so.

"Want to go for a walk?" Francis asked knowingly. Matthew tore his eyes away from Gilbert and Mogens, who were passing by the dorm, likely on their way out to the woods.

"No…I did a little too much walking over the break. I just want to stay here with you…especially now that your mother isn't in the room next door," Matthew said, turning to face Francis and grinning rather seductively. Francis tossed aside the magazine he'd been perusing and leaned back on his bed, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

"Oh yeah?" he asked. Matthew crossed the room, until he stood at the edge of Francis's bed. He pulled off his shirt slowly, letting the garment hang on the crook of his finger a moment before it dropped to the floor. Francis let out an appreciative wolf whistle, causing Matthew to grin—an intoxicating mixture of shy and sultry.

"Mmhmm…I want you, Francis," Mathew said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he surveyed Francis's partially open shirt. His boyfriend teasingly undid a button, and then another. Matthew leaned forward, planting his hands on Francis's thighs. "That looks like hard work. Why don't you let me help you?" Matthew offered. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of Francis's throat and dragged his tongue in little swirly patterns downwards, until his teeth bumped against the next button.

"C-careful of the fabric…this is a designer—" Francis's words fell short as he heard the distinct sound of a button being ripped. "Matthew!" he exclaimed in surprise. His previously bashful boyfriend grinned up at him mischievously.

"Oops," he said, in a tone that suggested it was entirely on purpose. Francis shook his head in amusement and surprise.

"You're being very naughty, _mon cher_. I don't know what's gotten in to you, all the sudden, but you should be careful, or you'll earn yourself some punishment," Francis replied. Matthew glanced at him almost challengingly from beneath his pretty lashes.

"Is that a promise?"

"_Fuck_," Francis grunted, finishing the job Matthew had started by ripping the last two buttons in his haste to remove his shirt.

"I was rather hoping you would," Matthew replied, dropping the seductive act as Francis swooped him onto the bed, giggling as his boyfriend sucked on his chest and tickled his sides. Matthew let out a needy moan as Francis's lips trailed down his abs, working their way past the button of his jeans, and below the elastic band of his briefs. Matthew's arms stretched above his head, tangling in the sheets, his eyes rolling backwards in pleasure. It was _good_ to be home again.

USUK

Arthur hit replay on his iPod, escaping into the opening chords of a heavy, riot drumbeat. He'd loaded the CDs Patrick had gotten him for Christmas onto his music player and had listened to them obsessively since his falling out with Alfred. He'd never felt so messy inside, like all the cards he's spent years neatly stacking in his head had just exploded into confetti.

He was angry, because it was easier to be angry instead of heartbroken. The lyrics began and Arthur sang with them, getting so into the music that he rolled out of bed and jumped around like a mad man. The volume was cranked to its loudest, and it still wasn't loud enough. Arthur wanted to drown in it. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to explode.

Forgotten under Alfred's abandoned bed, Pinky was a silent audience to Arthur's one-man concert.

So absorbed in the music, Arthur didn't hear the loud pounding on his door. The knocker must have realized his predicament, because he decided to just open the door and let himself in. He was a tall boy, with mocha colored skin and silky chocolate hair, slicked back away from his face with a little gel. His smile was pearly white and his eyes were a seductive shade of hazel. He was a junior, from Portugal.

He tapped on Arthur's shoulder, already grinning. Spinning wildly, Arthur yanked his earbuds out and prepared to rip the stranger a new one for daring to intrude uninvited, but the Portuguese boy pressed a finger to his lips.

"Save your shouting for the microphone. I want you to sing a few songs for some of my friends. Do you have some free time?" he asked charmingly. Arthur blinked, startled, and stepped backwards to put some space between them again.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked. The older boy smiled and extended his hand.

"My name's Celio. No need to introduce yourself—I already know who you are. But who'd have thought the prim and proper little prince could sing like _that_?" Celio asked, with over-exaggerated surprise. Arthur frowned, but his cheeks reddened slightly.

"I wasn't singing…I was just…err…venting," Arthur finished lamely. Celio arched a slender brow.

"Well, come vent some more. Me and my band are meeting up in the music room in a half hour. I've seen you hanging around with the music club in there before, so you know the place. We've just lost our singer…but I rather like the idea of you replacing him."

"What? Me?" Arthur asked. Celio smiled at him, and not-so-subtly eyed him up and down.

"Mmm, I think you're _just_ what we've been looking for. So save your voice and come, okay?" Celio requested, heading back to the door. Arthur felt himself nod, though he wasn't sure if he'd just actually agreed to the unexpected request. His earbuds continued to blast the music that had soothed his pain and anxiety the last week, and Arthur absently plugged them back into his ears.

Sure, he loved music—he'd played classical piano practically all his life—but he'd never fancied himself a singer. His first impulse was to find Alfred, and see what he thought of the idea, but he firmly rebuked himself. His friendship with Alfred was over, and his love for the other boy was over, too.

Deciding to fling caution to the wind, Arthur hastily threw some of his piano compositions into his backpack, as well as some of his favorite CDs. What could it hurt to go talk with them about music and hear their band play? It wasn't as if he had Alfred around anymore to kill free time. He slung the bag over his shoulder and left his room, locking the door behind him. Some new, older and more mature friends were _just_ what he needed.

When he entered the music room, Roderich was already there, as if he'd never left. Arthur greeted him.

"Have a nice break?" he asked. The Austrian boy shrugged.

"It was boring for the most part. I would have rather been here," Roderich said. "You?"

"I wish it _had_ been boring, but it was a little too stressful," Arthur said. Roderich's lips tilted into a knowing smile.

"Come for some therapy, then?" he asked, indicating the impressive and beautiful baby grand piano in the center of the room with a small flourish of his hand. Arthur shook his head.

"Actually, a boy named Celio overheard me…err…singing a bit in my dorm, and he told me he and his band would be meeting up here." Roderich's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Yes, they play in the back practice room sometimes—the big one with the drum kit. You've met one of their guitarists. He's that rather friendly boy from Brazil that helped us put away all those music stands when the orchestra left them in here after their practice."

"Really? I didn't know he played guitar. I thought he was in the orchestra," Arthur said absently, recalling the image of the other boy.

"I think he is, likely plays bass there, too."

"Interesting. What type of music do they play?" Arthur asked. Roderich sniffed a little disdainfully. He was firmly dedicated to classical music and didn't think much of modern pieces.

"From what little I've heard, it seems pretty random. They mostly just perform songs they like, and not always very well, I might add. You might want to be careful, though. There's a reason they keep cycling through singers," Roderich said, as he unpacked his own sheet music. Arthur quirked a brow up in curiosity. Roderich huffed. "Well, isn't it obvious? Celio keeps sleeping with them all and they keep running off. I hear them squabbling about it in the hallways—it's _highly_ distracting when one is trying to compose seriously."

Arthur snorted a bit in amused surprise. So this Celio chap thought of himself as a Cassanova, did he? That made a little more sense. Arthur knew he had a decent voice, but it wasn't anything to write home about.

"Thanks for the warning, Roderich," Arthur said, as the door opened and Celio himself entered. Arthur gave him a look that said 'I'm-on-to-you-now.' Celio just smiled charmingly.

"You decided to come. _Fantástico_—I'll introduce you to my band members," Celio said. He nodded to Roderich in greeting, flashing him a saucy little grin, but the rather stuffy pianist just rolled his eyes and went to his piano.

"My friend Roderich says you go through singers quite regularly," Arthur accused lightly. Celio just grinned.

"Not _too_ regularly. I only audition the sexiest singers in the school," Celio replied smoothly. Arthur reddened.

"He also says your band kind of sucks," Arthur shot back. Roderich grinned.

"Maybe, but we have a hell of a good time. Arthur, meet my band," Celio said with a heart-stopping grin, opening the door to practice room 5 with a dramatic motion. The band members inside glanced up at him, grinned knowingly, and said hello amidst setting up their instruments and equipment. "Now, see? What did I tell you all? I would find us a new singer even better than the ones before. It's no coincidence that my name means heaven—I am good at finding boys who can sing like angels."

"Oh lord, that was awful, even for _you_. How about we keep him and kick you out?" the Brazilian boy Arthur vaguely remembered said with a smile. Arthur grinned, finding that he rather liked him. He extended his hand, and the Brazilian shook it warmly. "I'm Gabriel, and that's Antonio on drums."

Arthur smiled politely and nodded his head towards the curly-haired drummer.

"And what type of band are you, exactly?" Arthur asked. Celio started to answer, but Gabriel cut him off.

"We started out playing traditional fado—but then I switched to bass guitar and Antonio joined. We don't really have a style now. We just like playing. _This _one though, will tell you we play whatever you like if it gets him in your pants," Gabriel said, smirking. Celio pretended to be hurt as he picked up his guitar and tested the tuning with a few skillful strums.

"Well…what can I say? It's true enough. So what do you want me to play for you, _meu príncipe_? If you do not want to sing for me, I will sing for you," Celio flirted. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Just so you know, I don't think this act of yours is cute, and I'm not buying it for a second," Arthur grumbled. Gabriel and Antonio chuckled, and Gabriel patted him heartily on the back.

"Good for you. You're the first. Let us play something for you, though. I've heard you practicing piano. You are very talented," Gabriel praised. Arthur blushed slightly, about to brush off the praise, but Gabriel continued, "But there is something…restrained…about your music. You never break any rules when you play," Gabriel said. Celio shot him a playful little grin.

"Arthur is ready to start coming out of his shell, no?" The Portuguese boy started a lilting, complex guitar melody. Antonio added a slow, whispering drumbeat, and Celio began to sing. His voice was deep, and unlike when he was speaking, his song sounded so sad and mournful that it instantly grabbed at Arthur by the heart and reminded him of Alfred. He swallowed thickly, responding on an instinctual level to the longing in Celio's smooth, sultry Portuguese.

Gabriel smirked at him knowingly. "_That _is fado. Celio is amazing." He picked up his own guitar, adding a lower contrast to Celio's lilting guitar. Arthur sunk into a nearby chair, not staring at anything in particular, simply letting the emotion in the song give a voice to his own sadness. When the song ended, Arthur blinked, startled out of his trance.

"That was…quite beautiful," he praised. His musical ear had picked up plenty of mistakes—wrong notes and awkward rhythms, but the three of them played with a natural, organic harmony.

"Thank you," Celio said sincerely, his smile a little more genuine. His hazel eyes were warm and naturally flirtatious. It made Arthur a little flustered to stare at him too intently.

"I think, though, that your band is perfect with you as the singer. You don't have any need for me," Arthur said, and it was a bit of an understatement. Celio had a voice like melted chocolate, rich, dark and sensual, and if his attitude was anything to judge by, Celio knew it.

'_His confidence is refreshing after…well…it's just refreshing,'_ Arthur thought. Celio shrugged in response to Arthur's praise and smiled casually.

"Fair enough. You should still come listen to us practice, though. And maybe…I could take you to a concert you like sometime?" Celio asked casually, still plucking at the strings of his guitar absently. Arthur blushed, very aware that Gabriel was smiling knowingly and Antonio acted as if he'd seen this same routine hundreds of times.

"I…I don't think so. I need to be going. Thank you, though, for playing a song for me," Arthur said. He left feeling flustered, and still very heartbroken, trying to get Celio's soft hazel eyes out of his mind. In the practice room, Celio smirked and picked up Arthur's book bag.

"I think he likes me," Celio teased roguishly. Gabriel and Antonio shared long-suffering smiles.

"You're a dog, Celio. You should leave the innocent little freshmen alone," Antonio rebuked. Celio just grinned, and began rifling through Arthur's bag, mischief dancing in his hazel eyes.

USUK

Alfred dragged himself to class on Monday morning despite every muscle in his body protesting. He and Ivan had drank _way_ too much, played card games until Alfred had lost all his money, and then they'd clambered up to the roof sometime around one in the morning and pissed off the side of the building, trying to spell curse words in the snow three stories below.

None of that was conducive to a clear head for learning at 8:30 the next morning. What was worse, he had the class with Arthur. Alfred entered looking as bad as he felt, his clothing disheveled and his hair a mess. Usually it was Arthur that insisted on ironing their uniforms, and chastised Alfred to comb his hair.

Alfred had, of course, sat by Arthur in the previous term. Remembering Arthur's anger towards him with a bitter frown, Alfred returned once again to his seat in the back of the class. Arthur watched him pointedly, an obvious look of disapproval on his face.

Gilbert, of course, picked up on the tension immediately.

"Ha! Look at braceface! Sad because your boyfriend dumped you once you plastered your jacked up teeth with metal?" Gilbert joked crudely. Feeling reckless, Alfred turned around and shoved the other boy—_hard._ Gilbert went toppling out of his seat, cursing all the way down. Arthur watched the fight with wide, startled green eyes. Alfred didn't start fist fights—at least, not the Alfred he knew.

"Keep your mouth shut, you stupid stoner, or I'll shut it for you," Alfred threatened. Arthur was shocked further when Alfred finished the attack by upturning Gilbert's desk on him as well. The entire class was stunned. Gilbert had talked smack all year, especially to Alfred. The sweet, bumbling American boy had _never_ snapped back at him. His pride wounded, Gilbert stood up, adjusting his ripped and altered uniform.

"What the hell man? Gonna snap and go postal on the school now or something?" Gilbert accused with a huff. The teacher entered, and instantly knew something had happened. He gave a long sigh, eyeing Alfred and Gilbert, but went to the board resignedly and began the lesson.

Of course, the incident spread like wildfire. Ivan overheard classmates talking about it in the hallway—how Alfred Jones had snapped and threatened that he was going to bring a gun to school—and how he'd punched Gilbert in the face. Shaking his head in disbelief, Ivan finally tracked down Alfred back up on the roof of their dorm again, his arms huddled around his knees. With a sigh, he dropped down beside the other boy.

"He had it coming, whatever you did," Ivan said. Alfred just shrugged.

"I hate this school," Alfred finally blurted, making sure to conceal his braces carefully with his lips when he spoke. Ivan's cheery grin faded and he leaned back against his hands.

"You know, it is not exactly easy getting up all those fucking stairs with a bullet wound. I know we raced last night, but that was pretty stupid of me. My leg hurts like a mother fucker today. Next time go to the dorm room." Ivan peered with mild interest over the edge. "Tch…new snow fell. You can't even see our art anymore," he said.

"Arthur looked like nothing had happened. He looked good—like he didn't even care," Alfred grumbled. Ivan sighed, clearly annoyed by his whining.

"Yao has been avoiding me ever since we came back. I've had to start stalking him, like some kind of pathetic creeper. I took a bullet for him and he hates me now," Ivan said. Alfred glanced at him with an apologetic expression.

"Yikes. You win in the pity contest. Sorry, man. That's harsh."

"Fucking school and fucking boys that are too pretty for their own damn good," Ivan said, spitting off to the side as if disgusted with the whole situation. Alfred nodded his head in agreement.

"I don't want to stick around here. They're just gonna call me into the office for a gun threat anyway—which I didn't even make. Let's go see a movie or something," Alfred said. Ivan nodded, easy to convince.

"Da, sounds good. I want to see the one about the boxer—"

"Where he gets all messed up and the preview shows him fighting like eight punks in an alley? Hell yeah. Let's go," Alfred said, extending his hand to Ivan to help him up. The husky Russian winced at the motion, but accepted his other crutch when Alfred handed it to him.

"We aren't getting shitfaced again until my leg is healed. I think I tore out my stitches last night," Ivan grunted in annoyance. Alfred glanced at him sheepishly.

"Sorry, man. If it makes you feel any better, I got really confused last night and pissed all over my clothes in the dirty laundry hamper."

Ivan chuckled in dark amusement, "That _does_ make me feel better—stupid American," Ivan grunted, struggling a bit to get through the door with his crutches. Alfred helped him out, grinning.

"Yeah, I know. 'Course, now that I room with _you_, it's technically _our_ bathroom that's gonna smell like old piss whenever we go back."

"Damn," Ivan said, trying to playfully trip up Alfred with one of his crutches. "Don't piss in my room anymore!" Ivan rebuked. He succeeded in his mission and Alfred tripped down a few stairs, though he laughed the whole way and managed to catch himself on the handrail.

They managed to sneak off campus without being stopped, and took a cab to the closest movie theater. It was an old building, with smaller screens, and it offered more seats by having a balcony in each crowded little theater.

"Of _course_ you want to sit in the balcony. What part of me having fucking crutches do you not understand?" Ivan asked. Still, the bigger boy hobbled up the stairs fairly easily and dropped carefully into a stained, slightly ripped seat. Alfred had bought two bags of large popcorn and four candy bars…none of which he planned to share with Ivan.

"Did you notice this place is only playing American movies? It's because British movies, like British princes, suck balls," Alfred said pettily. Ivan rolled his eyes.

"So what did you _really_ do to the stoner to show off in front of Arthur?" Ivan asked. Alfred stuffed his mouth with popcorn, but spoke anyway. Both of them rested their snowy, muddy shoes on the back of the seats in front of them. The theater was empty except for the two of them.

"I _wasn't_ showing off in front of Arthur. He called me braceface. I pushed him and told him to shut his mouth or I'd shut it for him. _He_ was the one that made the comment about me going postal on the school."

"Well…if you need a gun…"

"Shut the hell up, Ivan. No wonder my parents want me to stay away from you. You're a bad fucking influence," Alfred said. Despite his words, he didn't seem to care overly much about what sort of influence Ivan had over him. Ivan chuckled.

"It was just a friendly offer, from one delinquent to another," Ivan said with a wolfish grin. Alfred grinned back and chunked a handful of popcorn at the other boy.

"_You're_ the delinquent. I'm gonna be president some day, or like, a fucking astronaut."

"You can barely tie your own shoes. If you managed to land on the moon, I'd suck the Headmaster's slimy asshole."

"Groooosss," Alfred replied, his expression morphing from a twisted look of disgust to a boyish grin. The previews began, and both boys lapsed into a comfortable silence, disturbed only by Alfred's crunching of his popcorn.

**A/N**: lol, no love for Russia and America? Ha, okay okay…_maybe_ I won't go there. :P Honestly, Russia isn't who you need to worry about. It's that smooth talking Portugal that's going to stir up trouble. But I wanted to address a few reader concerns:

1. Arthur going all dramatic/emo punk—not so much. He _is_ going to get into the music scene much more this term, and hang out more with Gabriel and Celio. His style might change a bit, but I'm not going to overdo it. I just wanted to use his growing interest in music as something he had in common with Celio.

2. Arthur as uke always, no exception. Nope! I haven't really gotten to a sex scene with any of the characters yet, but I like to be creative and as realistic as possible, which means once the boys are a little older, they're gonna start doing it in all sorts of fun combinations and positions. I _do_ love reading a sexy uke!Arthur, but as one reviewer pointed out, he's a little too sassy to be a meek little bottom all the time. No worries—I'll do my best to keep it fresh and different.


	25. Hero Club Mission: Help Yao!

Chapter 25

Alfred did, in fact, get called into the counselor's office for both truancy and the rumors about the gun threat. It helped, however, that the counselor was actually quite fond of Ivan, and knew of Alfred's good character second hand through him. Plus, she tended to see the good in everyone. Alfred was still nervous, however, as he sat in the chair across her desk once introductions had been dispensed with.

"I didn't make the threat," Alfred said, by way of greeting. She nodded at him kindly, and offered him a small bowl of candy. Alfred grabbed three or four and popped one into his mouth automatically. "Thanks," he added. She gave him a gentle smile.

"So you're the Alfred I've heard so much about from Ivan," she said. Alfred quietly gulped.

"Err…I hope not bad things?" he said. The counselor smiled.

"Not bad things at all. In fact, I can tell Ivan really looks up to you. You're a very good influence on him. I'm not so sure that he's such a good influence on _you_, though," she said. Alfred scowled. What was with all the adults in his life, and even Arthur, thinking he was so impressionable that he couldn't make his own decisions? He _did_ have a brain of his own.

"Look, if you know I didn't make a threat against the school, then I don't really see why I have to be here," Alfred said. The counselor smiled.

"Well, it's standard procedure when a student makes any type of threat. While I don't think you have any seriously ill intentions, I would like to know why you felt like it was okay to attack your classmate. From what Ivan's told me, you used to be pretty firmly against bullying of any kind."

"I was! I mean…I am. I dunno, it's just hard to take it, and take it, and never dish any out. Gilbert's been heckling me, _and_ my friend Matthew, all year. Everyone just thinks it's funny, but the stuff he says really gets to me sometimes. What he said yesterday just crossed the line. I'm not just going to let people walk all over me anymore."

"That's understandable. Did you talk to a teacher about the harassment?" she asked, marking something on a clipboard that sat on her desk. Alfred watched the movements of her pen and scowled.

"Not in this particular case, no, but I've been bullied since the second grade and I've reported it before—nothing ever changes. My parents have gotten involved, too, but an adult's not always going to be there. My parents pulled me out of public and put me in private, and it got a little better, but you just have to deal with it. Yesterday, I just was too tired to deal with it anymore."

"So you fought back?" she concluded. Alfred gave her a stony look.

"I don't feel guilty for what I did, and I'm not apologizing." She smiled once again.

"You came out recently, didn't you?" she asked casually. It startled Alfred, and he clenched the candies in his fist.

"Yeah, so?" he replied.

"How has that been?" the counselor asked. Alfred snorted.

"It's been a walk in the park—best time of my life," he replied, surprising even himself by the venom in his voice. After a long moment of silence, he glanced at her almost shyly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that," he said. She nodded.

"You and your friend Ivan have a lot in common. It's been hard for him too, coming to terms with his sexuality, I mean."

"Are you supposed to talk about your other students?" Alfred asked, sounding a little suspicious. The counselor laughed.

"Alfred, right now, this is you," she said. On her clipboard, she drew a picture and held it up. Alfred blinked in surprise to see the little frowny face staring back at him. He was also surprised to see that her "note" on him had been the start of a grocery list.

"Uh…" Alfred trailed off uncertainly. The counselor ripped off a piece of paper and drew another circle.

"This is where you want to be. So how do we make that happen?" she asked, holding up the innocent smiley now adorning her paper. Alfred chuckled a bit despite himself.

"It's not that easy, lady," he said. She grinned, clicking her pen a few times.

"Why isn't it that easy? What would make you happy right now, Alfred?"

"I think this session is only supposed to be a half hour. That's not enough time to list all the things I'd change about myself and my life if I could," Alfred quipped.

"You're right. I'm a counselor, not a miracle worker. Let's start with the first three, then. Number one?" she asked, pen poised ready to write. Alfred's mind went blank, except for the word _Arthur_.

"I miss Arthur. I miss when we were just friends, before our dicks got in the way," Alfred said. Realizing the language he had just used in front of an adult caused Alfred to blush, but the counselor didn't bat an eye. She wrote down: _Failed Relationship with Friend_. Alfred winced.

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Alfred said.

"Number two?" she continued. Alfred bit his lip.

"I hate my braces, and my glasses, and my stupid acne," Alfred said. She scribbled down: _Teenage Angst_.

"And last?" she prompted. Alfred, however, was still frowning.

"Are you, ya know, certified to do this? Because my mom has taken me to counselors before…and you're a little unconventional," Alfred said.

"I get results, though. Well, supposedly Ivan killed someone during vacation, but if the cops can't prove it, I'm not counting it as a setback. We were really doing quite well before the holiday."

"Uhh…" Alfred said blankly.

"Number three?" she prompted.

"I suck at sports, and everyone thinks I'm a loser," Alfred said. Now, he was almost a little curious to see how she'd interpret that. Her pen moved swiftly across the page and Alfred craned his neck to read her writing: _More Teenage Angst._

"Well, it seems clear to me that two out of your three problems will be solved by growing up."

"I don't exactly follow," Alfred said. She flashed him another smile.

"Alfred, I've watched a _lot_ of kids sit in that chair as they've grown up here. Anybody with eyes in their head can see that you're just in an awkward phase right now."

"I've been in an awkward phase my whole life," Alfred complained. She rolled her eyes impatiently.

"Well then, it's almost over. Look at yourself, kid. I mean, _really_ look at yourself. You're nearly six foot tall. You're starting to look less like a ten year old and more like a man. Your voice has already dropped, your muscles are thickening up, and you've got the bone structure of a movie star. You play sports and you've kept yourself in good shape. For fifteen, you're not doing all that bad."

"I…but…you think I'm filling out?" Alfred asked distractedly, trying to flex his biceps and peer at himself at the same time. The counselor grinned knowingly.

"You know a lot of this won't last forever. The braces will come off and you'll have a gorgeous smile. Your parents have the money to get you contacts if you want, and once your hormones calm down a bit, the acne will fade. But you know all that, don't you?" she asked.

Alfred shrugged a little guiltily. "I know it's not as bad as it could be," he admitted.

"But you still tear yourself up about it. Why?" she asked. Alfred shrugged again, feeling a little emotional now.

"I dunno. It's just hard to remember that it's only temporary. It feels like I've always been this way, and that it's never gonna change. Even if I do _look_ good some day, I'll still be me—dorky and stupid and obnoxious. This is the first time in my life I've ever had real friends before, and I'm still not entirely sure why they hang around," Alfred confessed.

"So…would you say that you're less worried about how you look on the outside, and more worried about how you feel on the inside?" she asked. Alfred bit his lip, reluctantly nodding.

"Now, I assume all these negative feelings are tied in with why things didn't go so well with Arthur, right?"

Alfred nodded again.

"He kept telling me he liked me just how I was, and I know I'm supposed to appreciate that, but I just didn't want to hear it," Alfred said. He realized idly that they had strayed pretty far away from the original topic of his misbehavior, but it felt good to get everything off his chest. He partly understood why Ivan still came to talk to the counselor fairly regularly, even if he hadn't liked the sessions at first.

"You want to be liked—popular, that is—and you want to be a successful athlete, and you want to do well in school, and be thought of as smart," the counselor said. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah! I know that's what my parents want for me, too, and Arthur thinks less of me for wanting the same thing. I mean, I realize my parents aren't always the nicest people to me, but it's better to want me to improve than to stay awkward and miserable for the rest of my life, right?"

"But did you ever think maybe that's not what Arthur was talking about at all? Maybe he wasn't saying that he wanted you to stay dorky and unathletic, but rather he wanted you to stay kind-hearted and brave, and sweet?"

Alfred blinked a bit in surprise. He unwrapped another candy absently and sucked on it hard.

"I don't think that's how Arthur sees me," Alfred said, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He'd been so hung up on his own insecurities and body issues that he hadn't realized Arthur was able to see past them, to his true character. That's what he claimed to love, and Alfred had resented him for it.

"I think you know he does. I think while you were hung up on glasses and braces and acne, and all the ways those things made you unhappy and insecure, Arthur was seeing something deeper in your character, something only a really good friend is able to spot and value, and he was worried it would get lost if you got too distracted by the superficial."

"I…think I get it," Alfred said, blinking at her a bit owlishly. She smiled.

"And that brings us back to our first point. You and I both know that Ivan is a good kid at heart. He's got the potential to be really brave and loyal, and kind, too. A lot of superficial things, like who his family is, and what's expected of him, make him confused about what he should and shouldn't do…but that's why you need to be a good example for him. You're going to grow up and change even more than you already have this year, Alfred. That's just part of the deal, but if you stay true to what you _know_ is right, you'll be okay," she said this with such certainty that, for the first time, Alfred believed it.

"Keep being Ivan's hero, and from the sound of it, Arthur's hero, too. You may not have a million friends, but you have at least two who see your true colors and respect you a lot because of them," she said. Her words made Alfred feel the same way he had when Arthur's dad had seemed to see something in him worth trusting.

"This is kind of a lot to wrap my mind around," Alfred said. The counselor glanced at the clock.

"Well, growing up isn't easy. If you need to talk more about Arthur, my door is usually open, except when it's not. Our time is up for today, but just remember this—stay true to what's down deep. Nobody can change that about you, or take it away from you. It's a good thing to let that part of you shine. Oh…and don't skip class anymore, and don't shoot your classmates. Are we clear?"

"Yes ma'm," Alfred replied, a reluctant smile turning up the corners of his lips.

"Okay, now get out of here and go stop Ivan from killing small animals, or whatever that crazy boy does when he's got a free afternoon," she joked. Laughing, Alfred grabbed his bag and left the office a bit confused, a little overwhelmed, but feeling much, much better. As he stepped into the hallway, a short, angry looking boy scowled at him harshly.

"What are you looking at, you four-eyed, tin grin bastard?"

"Lovino! Get in here!" the counselor called out. The short Italian boy snarled at Alfred, pushing past him roughly.

"I'm coming already! It's not my damn fault you needed extra time to fix the freshman loser," Lovino growled. Alfred frowned at the other boy's back.

"Geez, who pissed in your fruit loops?" he asked, idly rubbing at the shoulder Lovino had shoved. Lovino turned around to glare at him challengingly, but the counselor's voice from within the office held him in check.

"What strategy are you supposed to be trying this week? When someone pisses you off, I want you to go to your happy place. Think of lots of tomatoes, and being back home in Italy."

"Thinking of tomatoes just makes me hungry! It's a stupid fucking strategy!" Lovino shot back. Whatever the counselor replied to the violent boy was drowned out behind the closed door, which the counselor had stood up to shut, dragging Lovino into the office by the back of his uniform. She waved at Alfred quickly as she did so.

"See ya later, Alfred. Remind Ivan we have an appointment tomorrow afternoon, okay?"

Alfred said he would, and left the office, feeling a little better about his own issues after seeing the crazy kid that had gone in after him.

USUK

Alfred left the counselor with a desire to visit Matthew, but this plan was thwarted when he knocked on his friend's door only to be sent away by Francis, who shouted, "It is naked time right now. Come back later!" Matthew could faintly be heard giggling, and apologizing to him at the same time.

Alfred's nose wrinkled up in disgust. Even if Francis had fixed things between himself and Matthew, and Arthur hadn't been hurt in the process, Alfred still thought he was a bit of a pervert.

Alfred's eyes trailed down the hallway, to his old room. He wondered…was Arthur in? What was he doing? Alfred didn't have to wonder long. The bedroom door opened and a tall, extremely good looking boy emerged from the room with Arthur on his heels seeing him out. Alfred scowled at him, wondering who the hell he was. Catching his look, Arthur frostily and pointedly ignored his presence.

"I'll listen to the band, okay? And I'll watch the bloody movie if you _insist_ it's that good," Arthur said.

"Does our time together really have to be over? When will you let me see you again?" the handsome upperclassman asked, eyeing Arthur like a piece of meat. Alfred's scowl intensified. He did _not_ like that look.

"Stop being ridiculous. Goodbye, Cielo. I'll swing by the music room after class tomorrow…but only because _Gabriel _invited me. And stop dropping by my room uninvited!" he added, sounding a bit flustered. His eyes shifted down the hall quickly, as if he was checking to make sure Alfred had heard that part.

'_Of course Arthur didn't invite him. Cielo? What the hell kind of name is that? This guy's a total douche!'_ Alfred's thoughts growled. _'I promised Arthur's dad I'd watch out for Arthur, and that's what I'm gonna do. It's hero time!'_ Alfred thought to himself, psyching himself up for the confrontation. He squared off at the end of the hallway.

"HEY!" he called out. Cielo glanced down the hallway casually, as if surprised there was even someone there.

"Do you know him?" Cielo asked Arthur. The British royal rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Just ignore him. He gets strange notions in his head sometimes and—"

"If Arthur didn't invite you, you need to leave. _Now_," Alfred said. He'd walked down the hall purposefully, using his full height to his advantage. Despite being two years his junior, he matched Cielo in height. The Portuguese boy eyed him up, perhaps noticing the rugby jacket he wore and the determined set of his jaw. As someone who had stolen a lot of girlfriends and boyfriends, Cielo was all too familiar with _that_ look.

"I am a lover, not a fighter. I think it's time to take my leave. I'll see you later, _anjinho_." Alfred growled—actually _growled_—in the back of his throat.

Arthur bit his lip until Cielo had left the hallway, and then turned his glare on Alfred.

"Don't _even_ go there," Arthur said. Alfred jammed his hands into his pockets, scowling petulantly.

"He's a greasy creep," Alfred said. Arthur pushed him, sending Alfred a little off balance and surprising him by the aggressive move.

"You don't get to do this! You don't get to…to…run away, like a _coward_, and then come swaggering down the hall like you have _any_ say over what I do, or who I date!"

"You're dating _him_?" Alfred asked in horror. "You told me your feelings like, a week and a half ago! So much for being in _love_ with me," Alfred accused. Arthur seemed to be so upset that he couldn't even find the words. He shoved Alfred again, though it was rather ineffectual against the taller boy.

"_Shut up!_" Arthur hissed. "You're an insensitive arsehole!" he added, making to escape back into his room. Alfred, however, managed to get his foot in the door and grab it with his hand.

"Arthur, _listen_ to me. That guy is only after one thing, and he's got too much gel in his hair, and he looks at you like he's undressing you with his eyes," Alfred said. Arthur scowled angrily, slamming the door repeatedly against Alfred's foot.

"At least _someone_ wants to undress me! Move your bloody foot, you stupid wanker!" Arthur shouted. Roused to anger as well, Arthur did just as Arthur asked and released the door just as Arthur was tugging on it. The British boy went tumbling backwards, landing hard on his bum. Alfred blinked in surprise, his expression showing instant regret.

"Arthur, I'm sorry. Are you—"

More furious that Alfred had ever seen him, Arthur kicked the door closed with all the fury he could muster. The bang echoed loudly through the entire hall, causing Alfred to sigh.

So maybe Arthur wasn't ready to talk yet. He'd have to find someone else to hang out with who _didn't_ hate him.

USUK

Alfred found Yao in the cafeteria, quietly eating his dinner. Knowing Ivan's new hobby, Alfred glanced around to see if the hulking Russian boy was hovering nearby, but he didn't see him. He dropped into the seat across from Yao, flashing him a hesitant smile.

"Hi," Alfred said. It was the first time Alfred had seen Yao since the attack, since there hadn't been any student council meetings yet and they didn't share any classes this term.

"Hello," Yao greeted quietly. He seemed subdued, and nervous. He looked even paler than usual, and his normally silky black hair looked rather limp and lifeless around his hollowed face. Alfred noticed that the other boy had merely pushed the food around on his tray, and didn't seem to be eating much of it.

"Not hungry?" Alfred asked. Yao placed his chopsticks down (normal colored ones, Alfred noted—what had happened to his cute, kiddy ones?) and the Asian boy pushed his tray away slightly.

"No. If you want some, help yourself," he said. Alfred didn't feel right about eating the other boy's food, especially when he looked like he needed a good meal pretty badly.

"I know the roast beef is kind of nasty, but it's pretty good if you pour a lot of ranch on it. Want me to get you some?"

Yao frowned delicately, and now he looked a little sick to his stomach. Alfred winced at how badly he was butchering the conversation.

"Okay, so no ranch, huh? You should eat something, though. You..err…don't look so good," Alfred said. Yao's frown deepened, and he glanced around suspiciously.

"Ivan sent you, didn't he?" Yao asked. The gesture made him look paranoid and as flighty as a deer in hunting season.

"Ivan didn't send me, but I know he's been worried about you. To be honest, now I'm a little worried about you, too," Alfred said. It made him feel good to feel like he was trying to help his friend. It had been a long time since Alfred had felt the warm, fuzzy feeling he got when he saw someone in trouble and knew that if he tried hard enough, he could do _something_ about it.

"Well, do not concern yourself. I am fine," Yao insisted, acting as if he were going to collect his things and leave. Alfred stopped him by snagging his sleeve. The petite Asian boy flinched violently away from his touch. Alfred frowned. Ivan was right—Yao wasn't in good shape at all.

"Hey…let me show you something, okay?" Alfred said, recognizing the signs of a panic attack written all over Yao's face. Before Yao could protest, or even really do anything about it, Alfred swept him out of the cafeteria and tugged him into a nook in the hallway. He gently maneuvered Yao into a corner, so he could feel the walls at his back. Alfred stood close, gently grasping the smaller boy's shoulders, simply blocking him in.

Gradually, Yao's breathing began to slow down.

"Feel a little better?" Alfred asked. Yao nodded tightly. It didn't surprise Alfred to see tears clinging to the other boy's eyelashes.

"I used to get really scared as a kid, ya know? I'd have these really bad nightmares, don't even remember what they were about, but they _terrified_ me. A couple of times, I even wet the bed. My mom said I just had an overactive imagination. At first, my parents would come running when I cried, and they'd let me sleep in their bed, but after a few weeks, when it just got worse, they decided I just needed to tough it out. I still got super scared, though, so I found that if I crawled into the corner so I could feel the walls at my back, it helped me calm down. Feel any better?" Alfred asked.

Despite the embarrassing stories Alfred was telling about his childhood, Yao _did_ feel better with the other boy blocking him in. Alfred may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but even Yao was susceptible to Alfred's hero routine. It was a little silly, but something about the determination in Alfred's eyes when he got in such a mood said he would make things better no matter what, and that he'd do whatever it took. It gave Yao the feelings of safety he'd once had around Ivan, but Alfred was purer than Ivan by far, and didn't even hint at being dangerous or threatening.

Yao knew _Alfred_ would never smile in such a twisted way as he took another life. Alfred was as innocent as fresh snow. Yao brushed away his tears, feeling tired. He reached for Alfred's jacket and tugged him forwards, burying his head against the other boy's chest, letting fresh tears fall. He felt very much like a little boy, who was trapped in a dark, frightening place, and he wished his mother would come to comfort him. Since he knew she could not, Alfred would simply have to do.

"I can't sleep. I'm _so_ tired," Yao whispered brokenly. Alfred wrapped him up in his arms, rubbing his back comfortingly. "I worry for my mother and father constantly. I see the boy Ivan killed everywhere, in teachers' faces, in a student walking just a little ways behind me…I can't go on like this much longer," Yao confessed. A throat cleared pointedly behind them, and Alfred glanced backwards to see Ivan. For a second, he feared the other boy would get the wrong impression, but Ivan seemed to understand what Alfred was trying to do. He might have been watching and listening the entire time, for all Alfred knew. He admitted he spent all his time trailing Yao these days, worried more than he would confess about the other boy's mental health.

"Yao…" Ivan trailed off, sounding helpless. Still hugging Yao tightly to his chest, Alfred slowly walked him towards the door and Ivan.

"Why don't you come back to our room, Yao? Ivan and I can watch out for you while you get some rest," Alfred said. Ivan shot him an incredibly grateful look. Yao, however, flinched noticeably as they neared Ivan.

"You will stay, Alfred?" Yao asked. Alfred nodded.

"Consider it a Hero Club mission," Alfred replied, trying to coax a smile out of his Chinese friend. Yao, however, was too tired and frightened. He merely let himself be led through the school tucked against Alfred's jacket, Ivan limping steadily on his crutches beside them. Once inside their room, Alfred tidied up his bed a bit and pulled the covers back. The Chinese boy crawled in after slipping off his shoes. He curled up into a little ball against the wall, his hair falling over his girlish features.

"Ivan's gonna lock the door, okay? And I'll sit right here and do my homework. We'll keep the light on, too."

Yao nodded in a pathetic sort of way, his eyelids dropping shut. His small hand pressed against Alfred's thigh, as if making sure the other boy was still there. He fell into a fitful sleep.

"Jesus, Ivan, this isn't good. He needs help," Alfred whispered. The Russian boy sat on his own bed, frowning deeply.

"I _know_ that. That's why I've been fucking stalking him, but I just make him more nervous and remind him of what happened," Ivan said, the stress making his voice crack. Alfred stared down at his sleeping classmate, feeling pity for him. Ivan, meanwhile, was staring at Alfred intensely.

"People feel safe with you…drawn to you, even. It's not just Yao. Toris was the same way," Ivan said. Alfred shrugged a bit uncomfortably.

"I'm not doing anything special—just trying to help," Alfred replied. Ivan waved away his modest statement.

"You have to take care of him, since he won't let me do it," Ivan said. Alfred blinked in surprise, his cheeks darkening slightly.

"W-what? You want me to…"

"Just take care of him. He'll stay in here. Walk with him between classes. He'll be fine if he can just get some sleep," Ivan insisted. Alfred saw the worry in Ivan's eyes, and the helplessness, too. It was one of those moments where he saw the good in his friend, and realized just how far Ivan was willing to go for the boy he cared about. He didn't know limits. He wouldn't accept no for an answer. Luckily, Alfred wasn't the sort of boy who would have said no to such a request.

"Okay. We'll _both_ help him. He can learn to trust you again, Ivan. You just scared him, but I know he cares about you. You've gotta believe he can get past this, and that you can be the kind of guy worth trusting."

Ivan swallowed thickly, and nodded, pale eyes shining in determination.

"Together, then?" Ivan confirmed. Alfred nodded his head.

"Together," he promised.

**A/N:** Gah, I'm going soft! I honestly wasn't gonna give Ivan another chance with Yao…but I cracked. Somehow, I've grown fond of the pairing. I've decided to give them a…*gasp!*…happy ending. Whaaaat? Plus, lol, I have new plans for Alfred and I need Yao to do them. No AlfredXYao though, so rest easy. A reviewer asked if I was ahead or if I just wrote fast. The answer is that I just write fast. I don't edit my stuff typically beyond giving it a once over before I post. I get too excited to share and I can't wait, lol. Plus, I like being able to respond to your reviews and take them into consideration as the story progresses. A couple reviewers have totally changed the flow of the story. If a lot of people say they don't like something (like the RussiaXAmerica pairing) I'll do something different. I love hearing your input and opinions from chapter to chapter-they really do influence how the next chapter goes. For example, you wanted Antonio and Lovino and now they're here...don't particularly have any plans for them yet, but they're there, lol. I'm sure something will occur to me, or a reviewer will have a good suggestion for them. ;) Oh! And what Portugal calls England is "angel" - presumptuous little snot isn't he? Well, I actually quite like characters like him, because they give characters like Alfred a chance to man up, lol.


	26. Punk Music, Piercings, and Asian Dramas

Chapter 26

Arthur was staying in for the evening. Even as he showered, debated on what to wear (eventually settling on a rather snug fitting pair of jeans instead of his typical khakis) and bundled up in his coat, he firmly told himself he was most definitely staying in.

Because Alfred was an insensitive ass, and even if Arthur had promised to go to all his games, such promises no longer had to be kept when one person involved in the promise turned into a total wanker. So Arthur was staying in, and he was most certainly _not_ going to the game.

He locked the door to his room, and wandered in the general direction of the rugby field. The halls were already deserted, as the game was just beginning. So maybe he wasn't staying in, per say, but he was definitely _not_ attending to watch Alfred play. He was just walking the halls aimlessly…when he had a million other things that needed doing. He just needed a break from homework, and that was all.

And if he found himself stopping by the rugby field (not to watch or anything), it was only because he had a rather pressing matter he had to discuss with Yao concerning a deadline for student council, and he hadn't seen the other boy since the new term began. He'd likely be at the game, along with everyone else.

So it was to look for Yao that he climbed into the stands rather slyly, trying not to draw any attention to himself. His green eyes were studying the bleachers looking for Yao—definitely _not _on the field searching for Alfred. Because he was so totally over Alfred, truly he was.

"He's over there," a soft voice said. Due to the noise of the crowd, Arthur thought he was hearing things for a moment before Matthew popped up beside him with a knowing little grin on his face.

"Oh!" Arthur jumped slightly, his hand flying to his chest. "You startled me, Matthew. Are you referring to Yao? Because that's who I'm here to find," Arthur said. As Matthew's amused grin grew wider, Arthur continued to flounder. "It's _official _student council business. Emily said it really couldn't wait, and…and…_fine_! I came for Alfred. How has he been playing? Don't you dare tell him I asked," Arthur said. Matthew's grin faded into a sad little frown.

"Worse than usual, if you can believe it. The crowd hates him. Some dick near the front even has a poster making fun of him," Matthew said. Arthur scowled.

"Where?" he demanded, now searching the crowd in earnest. Matthew pointed. It was some upperclassmen, none of them athletes by the looks of it (all of them loud and fat), who clearly thought they were being clever. Arthur was storming down the walkway before Matthew could stop him.

"Arthur, wait!" Matthew called, but the hot-headed Brit was clearly looking for a fight. Francis joined Matthew, watching Arthur with worried blue eyes.

"He's going to make a scene, isn't he?" Francis asked, resignedly. He was already rolling up the sleeves of his immaculately clean dress shirt.

"Are you going down there, too?" Matthew asked disapprovingly. Francis flashed him a small grin, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"I am afraid I must—nobody has pointed out to Arthur recently that he is only three feet tall and has small, effeminate fists. He will most definitely need assistance in his brawl," Francis said with a roguish grin.

"We really should just leave them be—they only want attention, and you and Arthur are giving it to them," Matthew argued sensibly. But it was too late. Arthur had climbed down the benches until he stood in front of the group, and he was already pointing angrily at their poster that read "Number 50 – the goal is that way!" written on both sides (with accompanying arrows) so that they could flip it as necessary. Despite his words, Matthew hurried after Arthur with Francis, just in time to catch the tail end of it.

"—it's absolutely despicable to mock a classmate when he's clearly _trying_, while you fatarses sit on the bleachers chuckling about how terrible he plays when I'd bet money the lot of you couldn't run the length of that field even once! Look at yourselves! You look like fat, slobbering swine! Instead of making posters, why don't you get on a damn treadmill if you've got so much bloody free time!"

"_Merde!_" Francis cursed, flying down the stairs faster just as one of the biggest of the boys stood up to tower over Arthur and shove him harshly.

"You're blocking the game, fairy!" he grunted, earning loud guffaws of laughter from his little posse.

"Oh yeah? Well your fat head is blocking the playing field!" Arthur shouted, springing instantly back to his feet, snatching the poster, and ripping it cleanly down the middle. The fight had caught everyone's notice now, and chanting had broken out amongst the students.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Francis and Matthew were blocked by the sudden swarm of bodies, but Arthur had only taken another shove before the benched rugby players pushed their way into the melee, with a distinct battle cry of, "Get the fuck out of _our_ stadium, and quit messing with princess!"

On the field, the rather dismal game came to a halt, and referees and coaches came running. For a moment, Alfred looked confused until he got his helmet off and saw Arthur being lifted out of the brawl by a burly teammate—his fists still flying. The fight in the stands escalated, and Arthur would have likely slipped back in if Alfred hadn't jumped the fence and caught him around the middle bracingly.

"Easy!" Alfred said. Arthur, however, wriggled in his grasp like an eel and shoved him off as hard as he could manage.

"I didn't ask for you or your stupid rugby mates to help me!" Arthur growled. "I was fine on my own!" The shorter boy was panting hard, a button ripped off his coat and his hair disheveled. He had a bloody lip, though it only looked like a small cut.

"You're bleeding," Alfred said, risking Arthur's wrath once again to capture the other boy's jaw and tenderly brush his thumb over the wound. For a single moment, Arthur leaned into the affectionate touch, wanting it desperately, before his mind caught up to speed and his green eyes filled with venom. He slapped Alfred's hand away, and spat out the bloody saliva that was pooling in his mouth at Alfred's feet.

"Okay, okay! I won't touch you!" Alfred said, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. Arthur scowled moodily, and wiped the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. The fight was finally dwindling, and the ex-rugby players were being hauled off to the office as well as the boys who had made the sign.

"I was playing terrible without you here," Alfred said, his blue eyes hopeful for a semi-peaceful exchange. Arthur, however, was not yet ready to play nice.

"You _always_ play terribly," he snapped waspishly. Alfred, however, just grinned.

"So those guys can't make fun of me, but you can?" Alfred clarified. Arthur glared at him.

"It's _not _the same," Arthur snapped. Alfred's grin just broadened.

"Why? Because they meant it and you don't?"

"Exactly. I mean…shut up! Yeah! Just shut up and run away—you're good at that, aren't you?" Arthur accused. Alfred's grin faded into a sad smile. He slowly put his helmet back on, and did up the binding.

"Thanks for keeping your promise…even though you're mad at me," Alfred said. Arthur's frown intensified.

"A gentleman always keeps his promises. It has absolutely _nothing_ to do with _you_, because believe me when I say the sight of your face disgusts me!"

"I'll play better now that you're here—I know I will. See you later?" Alfred asked hopefully. Arthur was so frustrated with the entire conversation that he responded with a rather rude hand gesture.

"Screw later—I'll be quite overjoyed if I never have to see you again," Arthur spat, as convincingly as he could manage. But it was too late, Alfred was smiling at him in that fond, slightly amused way over his shoulder and jogging back onto the field, where game play was about to resume. Arthur grumpily left the field, positively fuming.

He most _certainly_ should have just stayed in, promise be damned.

USUK

After the rugby game (another spectacularly bad loss for World Academy), Alfred stripped off his padding with more cheer than he should have. Berwald, who was undressing next to him, arched a brow in question.

"You _do_ know we lost, r'ght? the hulking Captain asked stonily.

"Oh…right," Alfred hastily wiped the grin off his face. "It totally sucks," he added, not at all very convincing. Berwald rolled his eyes.

"You're jus' happy your boyfriend came to w'tch," Berwald assessed. Alfred's cheeks darkened, and he glanced around the locker room, but the other boys were already in the shower. It was the first time he'd really had a chance to speak to Berwald since what he'd witnessed on Christmas.

"Yeah, I guess I am. He's really mad at me right now, though," Alfred hinted, hoping Berwald would chime in with some advice. His Captain, however, remained quiet as he undid the lacings on his shoes. Clearly, Alfred was going to have to be more direct. "Have you…err…ever had any fights with your fiancé?" Alfred asked. Berwald paused a moment, glancing sharply at Alfred, but then continued undoing his laces.

"A few," he said shortly.

"So…how did you make Timo forgive you?" Alfred asked. Berwald coughed a bit, clearly a little surprised Alfred had mentioned a name, and the faintest blush darkened his cheeks.

"I…well…I give him flow'rs," Berwald said, though the way he said it sounded a little strange. Stranger than his usual truncated way of speaking, that is. Alfred figured it was just because the other boy was feeling awkward.

"Flowers, huh? Even though Timo's a dude? I mean, I guess Arthur can be pretty girly sometimes. He likes embroidery, if that tells you anything. How do you know what kind of flowers?" Alfred asked, curious as a little kitten. Berwald, still blushing, hastily changed his shirt and slipped into his boots. He didn't bother tying them up, instead grabbing his bag and all but fleeing the locker room.

"J'st fig're it out," Berwald stammered. Alfred pouted. Well, either Berwald wasn't accustomed to talking about his relationship, or he didn't feel very sympathetic to Alfred's plight.

Once out in the hallway, Timo pushed off the wall and greeted his fiancé with a sweet kiss.

"You'll win the next one," Timo assured. Berwald, however, was now thoroughly distracted from the game.

"Th't kid Alfr'd ask'd what to do to end a f'ght," Berwald said, revealing the cause of his true distress. Timo blinked in surprise, and then smiled.

"Didn't you ask for his help setting up the mistletoe? He probably either saw us in the library or heard about it. That _is_ what you wanted, right? For everyone to know that we are together," Timo pointed out. "But that is a rather…um…_sensitive_ subject. They're _only_ fifteen, after all. I hope you didn't tell him the truth—that you just sling me over your shoulder like a caveman and drag me off to ravage me until I stop yelling," Timo said. Berwald's blush darkened. "Because if Alfred tried to do that, he's liable to get sued. You're just incredibly lucky that fighting makes me horny," Timo said. Berwald now resembled a tomato.

"I didn't tell him _th't_! I sa'd flow'rs. I pan'cked. I didn't know wh't to tell him," Berwald said defensively. Timo chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Well, I hope for his sake that his boyfriend isn't the type to take something like that the wrong way," Timo said. Berwald nodded, feeling guilty for the strange advice he'd given that didn't really apply to a relationship between two teenage boys. He felt even worse when he considered the fact that Alfred would do whatever he said without questioning it.

USUK

Alfred dropped his stinking bag full of rugby gear at the door, on top of another mess already accumulating on the floor at the foot of his bed. The bedrooms at World Academy were very spacious, especially for dorms, but Ivan and Alfred's room felt cluttered seeing as neither of them was very neat. Yao had slept over twice, both times collapsing in an exhausted heap at Alfred's back, and some of his things cluttered up the room even further.

Thankfully, little Alfred hadn't made the sleeping situation awkward. It was possibly due to a fear for his life should he get a hard-on for his roommate's possible boyfriend, and partially due to the fact that he'd been pretty tired himself since term resumed. Keeping up in his studies without Arthur's help was much harder, and juggling rugby practice and his efforts for the Hero Club kept him up fairly late in the evenings.

"Hello, Alfred," Yao said. The Asian boy was perched in their armchair, looking much healthier than he had two days before. He was freshly showered and the bags were gone from his eyes. He was delicately eating from a box of Chinese take-out, which Alfred suspected Ivan had ordered for him and was insisting he eat. As for Ivan, he was sitting on his bed, reluctantly doing some work while mostly just watching Yao.

"Hey guys—you missed a crazy game. A fight broke out, or I should say, Arthur started a fight in the stands, and then he got really pissed at me, but I don't think he's _that_ pissed because at least he came, right?" Alfred said, as he passed through the room to the bathroom. Yao quirked his lips in amusement and nibbled on some more rice, glancing mysteriously at Ivan. Not quite sure how to interpret the look, (and mentally telling himself Ivan was going to have to be more direct if they wanted some alone time) Alfred grabbed some clean shorts and boxers from the dresser and hit the shower.

Clearly the look _had_ meant something, because when Alfred came out of the bathroom, Yao was sitting beside Ivan, and they were kissing rather heatedly. Ivan already had his hand up Yao's uniform shirt. The Asian boy broke away instantly upon hearing the door open, a slight flush of color high on his cheekbones. Ivan glanced over his shoulder to see what had distracted Yao, and scowled in annoyance.

"Don't mind him. He's just leaving," Ivan said. A little embarrassed, Alfred laughed awkwardly, tripped over a pile of dirty clothes, and stumbled towards the door.

"Hahaha! Yeah! I'm going…uh…to see Mattie! Be back later!" Alfred chirruped, quickly exiting into the hallway. He frowned petulantly. _'Now what?'_ Alfred asked. His options were limited by the fact that he didn't have shoes, nor a shirt on. He couldn't exactly go outside or to the library, and he didn't really want to visit Matthew and Francis so late in the evening. He had a feeling they'd be in the same position as Ivan and Yao right about then.

That just left Arthur. It was worth a shot, at least.

Arthur's room was two hallways over, so Alfred set off, not in any particular hurry. He wondered what he would do if that smooth-talking Portuguese kid was hanging out in their room again, and decided he might end up starting a fight, too, if that were the case.

Before he could make the final turn, a door opened suddenly to his right and Alfred blinked in surprise to see Kiku peering out at him. Suddenly feeling a little embarrassed to be shirtless, Alfred sheepishly wrapped an arm around his stomach, and scratched at the back of his neck with the other.

"Oh! Hiya Kiku…heh, bet you're wondering why I'm half-dressed, huh?" Alfred said. The soft-spoken Japanese boy was blushing, and very pointedly not looking at Alfred's chest. As of late, Alfred hadn't been so embarrassed by it, though. He really was filling out some, and Alfred spent a lot of time lately going shirtless around his room just so he could catch peeks of his own developing abs and pecs. It was a little self-absorbed, but Alfred figured he'd worked hard enough for them, and waited long enough, that he was entitled to admire them—even though the musculature was still rather faint.

"Err…actually, I was wondering if you have seen my roommate," Kiku said.

"Yao? Oh yeah, he's been crashing in our room. He had a rough time of it over break and so Ivan's been keeping a close eye on him," Alfred said.

"That is exactly why I have been concerned," Kiku said primly, the disapproval evident in his tone. Alfred just shrugged.

"He's doing better now. That's, err, kind of why I'm out roaming the halls. He and Ivan are _busy_—I didn't even have time to grab a shirt before they kicked me out," Alfred said. Kiku frowned.

"Oh, that explains it then…you can come inside, if you don't have anywhere else to go," Kiku said, somewhat surprising Alfred by the offer. Normally the Japanese boy trailed silently after Ludwig and Feliciano, never really reaching out to anyone else. At first his English had been shaky, but Alfred had noticed that it had improved considerably towards the end of the first semester. Alfred grinned happily and followed Kiku into his room.

It was very obvious to him that two Asian boys lived there. One half of the room was plastered with posters of what looked like Asian boy bands, as well as cute little wall scrolls featuring pandas. Cheap looking nick-knacks adorned the shelves and desk on that side of the room, and the bed was neatly made with a bright red duvet. Sitting innocently in the middle of the perfectly made bed was the panda that Ivan had given Yao for his birthday. The room smelled like incense smoke.

On Kiku's side of the room, there were several posters for video games that Alfred instantly recognized, and some highly stylized posters of chicks with huge boobs and big eyes. Alfred was vaguely familiar with the style of artwork, but he'd always been way more into comic books. Now, he peered at the drawings curiously.

"This is anime, huh? What show?" he asked. Kiku blushed, and extended a neatly folded shirt to Alfred. "Oh! Thanks, dude!" Alfred said, not giving much thought to their differences in size. The difference became apparent, however, when Alfred tugged on the shirt only to discover it clung to him like a second skin. It was bright yellow, and it had white Japanese writing on the front and a cute little winking face. Alfred admired it, while Kiku admired Alfred.

Finally, the Asian boy tore his eyes away from the tight shirt and delicately cleared his throat.

"That is one of my favorite shows—it's about a ninja who wants to lead his village one day."

"Cool! Who are those guys?" Alfred asked, pointing to the posters on Yao's side of the room.

"They are mostly actors from Asian dramas, but that one is a Taiwanese band."

"Asian dramas?" Alfred asked naively. Kiku's eyes lit up with a strange fervency that Alfred had never seen the other boy show before. He always seemed so shy and reserved, but on the topic of television, apparently he came out of his shell.

"I was just about to start an episode. We can watch it with subtitles, if you would like," Kiku offered. He indicated his huge computer monitor, where a show's title screen was displayed. "I usually watch them with Yao, and so I was coming to look for him…but if he is busy, you can watch with me instead," Kiku offered. Alfred flashed a megawatt grin.

"Sure! Why not?"

Thirteen episodes later, it was nearly four in the morning and Alfred and Kiku stared unblinking at the computer screen.

"Oh no he just didn't!" Alfred said, stuffing another two sticks of Pocky in his mouth. Kiku was equally absorbed.

"If she goes back to him, she is an idiot," Kiku said. The credits rolled and Alfred rubbed at his eyes.

"Just two more episodes? We can finish…we'll have enough time before class…" Alfred said. Kiku was already shaking his head.

"We _have_ to stop watching. Usually, Yao and I take a full month to watch a drama," Kiku said. "He likes to go slow to build suspense," Kiku added.

"No way! Marathons are totally the way to go! You need instant gratification," Alfred said, even as he massively yawned. Kiku flashed a guilty little smile.

"I think so, too. The next one, then?" he said. They'd goaded each other through nearly a whole series in such a way—claiming they had to stop, even as they started another.

"Hell yeah!" Alfred said. "We _gotta_ know what happens to Jan Di!"

"Okay…we are so bad," Kiku said, as if he were shocked by his own rebellious behavior. Alfred snickered at him. Kiku was kinda cute. He idly wondered why he'd never noticed before.

The new episode began, distracting Alfred away from the rather appealing look of Kiku staring mesmerized at the computer screen.

"Thanks for the little cracker things," Alfred said. Kiku glanced at the empty Pocky box.

"You are welcome. Do you like Japanese food?" Kiku asked. Alfred shrugged.

"Never really tried it," he said. "I like the Pocky, though!"

Kiku smiled a little bashfully and turned his eyes back to the screen, as the episode was finally starting.

"We should watch that anime I was telling you about next—the one with the ninjas," Kiku said. "You would like it, I think," Kiku decided. Alfred's sleepy grin broadened.

"Dude, if it's as good as this drama, I'm all _over_ that!"

"More Pocky?" Kiku offered, reaching absently for another box from his stash. Alfred reached for one just as Kiku did, and their hands brushed. Dismissing the strange fluttering in his stomach as side effects of exhaustion, Alfred pulled his hand back awkwardly, noticing Kiku was blushing as well in the early morning light that filtered into the dorm.

USUK

"Here man, do I have the hook-up or what?" Gabriel asked, passing Arthur a fairly accurate looking fake I.D. It proclaimed him to be 18 years old, which was certainly a stretch, but Arthur hoped nobody questioned him too closely. He was willing to risk it, because he _desperately_ wanted to see the band that was performing live in a bar not too far from school. It was on a Friday, so Arthur didn't feel guilty about taking some time off from his studying schedule. He'd mentioned the concert to Gabriel, and while Celio had made all the plans for going, it was Gabriel who had gotten him a fake I.D. so he could actually get into the pub and drink if he wanted. Arthur didn't think he'd risk that—he really just wanted to see the band.

"Alright, let's go already!" Celio said, as they all loaded into the cab. It was lightly raining, and Arthur was eager to get out of the cold. The cab driver asked their destination and took off, maneuvering skillfully through the streets of London until they stopped in a street crowded with pedestrians. They were somewhere in Soho, though Arthur had never been to the area before and wasn't very clear on their exact location. It was definitely obvious, however, that it was a flashy part of town. Just from where they'd stepped out of the cab, Arthur could see two different sex shops and a tattoo parlor.

"We can kill some time, since we are early," Celio said with a wolfish grin, grabbing Arthur by the hand and dragging him through the rain. Gabriel muttered something under his breath, but the bigger boy trailed after them and into the cover of the shop. The owner glanced up from a magazine, cigarette smoke twirling idly around her face. She was pretty in a very unique way, with full, plump lips and lots of tattoos. She gave the vibe of having seen (and done) pretty much everything under the sun.

"Let's see the I.D.s, lovelies," she demanded, though not really seeming to care at the same time. Arthur reached for his wallet nervously, his palms sweaty. What if she knew it was a fake? He hadn't thought this through very well at all—he'd only wanted to duck out of the rain, and get his hand loose from Celio's.

The girl didn't even get up from her spot behind the counter as they held up I.D.s. There was no way she could read the dates on them, but she waved them disinterestedly towards the merchandise regardless.

"Have at it," she said unenthusiastically. It was only then, when he knew she wasn't going to call the police on him, that Arthur relaxed and actually looked around. His eyes widened to the size of plates.

"Damn! That's hot—I need that one," Celio said, moving closer to a television screen that was displaying a scene of gay bondage. Arthur blushed hotly, and tried to keep his reaction hidden from the employee who could really care less. Gabriel chuckled at him and pointed him towards a section in the back.

"Check it out," he said casually, as if it were no big deal. Arthur realized that to the older boys, it really wasn't. Gabriel had merely glanced disinterestedly at the gay porn Celio was admiring before rifling through some magazines featuring women with bulging, pierced breasts. Arthur retreated to the back of the store, just to have some space. His eyes scanned over items that he couldn't even imagine the uses for. There were whips and dildos—at least those were fairly straight forward—but then he thought he saw a game where one person shoved a rather thick looking stick in their bum and the other player tossed rings onto it.

'_Do people really _do_ this stuff?'_ Arthur wondered. He found himself standing in front of a shelf filled with fake penises in every color of the rainbow—ones that vibrated, wiggled, lit up and talked. It was a little overwhelming. He moved further down, his head tilting curiously to the side as he stared at a male blow-up doll, whose box advertised that he had "water effects." Arthur blinked a bit dazedly after a few moments and continued on. The back wall was nothing but shelves of porn, the covers depicting more sexual acts than Arthur had ever even imagined existed. His eyes were drawn to a fairly normal looking one featuring a ripped guy and a more slender blond. The naughty bits were censored out with green stars, but the image of the two bodies touching so intimately made Arthur bite his lip. He was debating with himself on whether or not he should actually grab the box, when Celio appeared behind him, wrapping him up in his arms and rubbing rather distractedly at his belly.

"Oooh, find a good one? Let's get this one!" Celio said, grabbing a box that featured a mixed racial couple going at it in some sort of crazy swing contraption. Blushing hotly, Arthur shrugged Celio's arms off and stepped away, his eyes falling traitorously on the box he'd been eyeing. Celio snatched it up, an amused smirk on his face.

"Why so embarrassed? It's not like you're looking at midget cross dresser she-male porn or something," Celio said, eyeing the rather bland looking porn for a few moments disinterestedly before shrugging and carrying it towards the front. "Whatever floats your boat. Let's see…we'll need one of these, and one of these, and _two_ of these…"

Arthur blushed indignantly at Celio snatched items off the shelf, all the while grinning at him suggestively.

"We most certainly will _not_ need—"

"He's just trying to rile you up, Arthur. Ignore him—it's really the best way," Gabriel said with a long-suffering sigh. Arthur snapped his mouth shut, settling on a glare as Celio winked at him and bought the suggestive items. The girl loaded them into a plastic bag, swiped Celio's card, and then went back to her magazine. The adrenalin from entering such a "forbidden" place was wearing off, and Arthur's blush was finally starting to fade. It helped that Celio and Gabriel were acting so casually, as if they had merely popped into a petrol station.

"You ready for the concert? We've killed enough time," Gabriel said. Arthur nodded. He was quite eager to be away from the suggestive items, not because he was embarrassed by them anymore, but because if he looked at them _too_ long, he was going to have a whole different sort of problem.

They made their way next door and stashed their coats (and the incriminating bag of goodies) in the front. Arthur was glad he hadn't dressed so primly. Everyone in the pub was wearing jeans and T-shirts in various stages of disrepair. Arthur was intrigued by the rather home-made look of many of the clothes—vests with patches and buttons glued on, jackets with metal studs that made patterns and shapes. It was very different from his wardrobe of uniforms and sweater vests, but Arthur was interested, and he thought some of the pub patrons wore the style very well. He also saw quite a few unusual hair colors and styles, which didn't interest him as much. He knew his mother would have a heart attack if he showed up home with his choppy blond locks styled into a ceiling-scraping Mohawk.

"Like what you see?" Celio asked seductively in his ear, his hand finding its way to Arthur's back pocket. Arthur swatted at it, mildly annoyed, but since beginning to hang out with Celio, he'd become desensitized to the touching. Celio was always grabbing at him, or sticking his hands where they didn't belong. Arthur would have been more uncomfortable by it, but Celio was pretty affectionate with Antonio and Gabriel, too.

"Must you hang all over me so?" Arthur asked primly. Celio just chuckled and pecked his cheek before slipping off towards the bar, asking Arthur as he went what he wanted to drink. "Just a coke," Arthur replied.

Arthur's eyes trailed hungrily over the stage, where the instruments were already assembled. Gabriel caught his attention and pointed off to the side, where it seemed like two of the band members were signing merchandise.

"Want an autograph?" Gabriel asked. Arthur's expression revealed that, yes, he very much _did_ want an autograph, but he had nothing that the band could sign. Gabriel gave his white T-shirt a tug. "Just have them sign this," he said. Arthur felt a little unsure, but he wanted to the meet the singer that he had connected so well with after his falling out with Alfred. He felt like even though he was a total stranger, he _knew_ what Arthur was going through.

"Okay," Arthur agreed, moving with Gabriel to the small crowd around the singer and the guitarist. When it was his turn, he blushed and rather formally extended his hand. The singer snorted in amusement, and took his hand, not only shaking it but giving a little bow and kissing it rather suggestively.

"Aren't you a cute little poppet!" he said. Arthur melted a bit at his voice—he sounded ten times sexier in person. He was attractive, too, with sparkling blue eyes under a wild mop of puple-dyed curls. On him, the crazy color looked quite wonderful. Laughing, Gabriel nudged Arthur's shoulder.

"You're drooling, Artie," he said. Arthur snapped out of it, promptly closing his mouth. The much older singer winked at him, and whipped out his marker.

"What am I signing, love?" he asked. Arthur's dazed mind slammed to a halt over the way the singer had so casually just called him love. The word sounded amazing in his deep voice.

"His shirt," Gabriel offered helpfully, clearly amused by Arthur's star-struck silence. Arthur meekly bit his lip as the devilishly good looking singer smiled softly at him and leaned over, scribbling his name across Arthur's chest, right over his heart. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but Arthur wanted to lean into him all the same.

"Go crazy for me out there, alright, love?" he requested. Arthur dumbly nodded. Gabriel had to pull him out of the queue, chuckling at him the entire way.

"Let's get our drinks. Celio will be heartbroken that you've found someone else," Gabriel joked, his beefy arm landing around Arthur's shoulders as he navigated him back towards their other friend. Celio returned from the bar, holding two beers for himself and Gabriel, and a glass of coke for Arthur. He sipped at it, suddenly grateful for the moisture as he realized his mouth was quite dry. He'd initially taken a large gulp, but then he pulled the drink away from his face in surprise.

"This isn't coke," he said. Celio winked at him.

"It's got rum mixed in. Drink up! Nobody stays sober at a punk concert," Celio said. Arthur scowled a bit, but took another swig of the drink anyway. It didn't taste like a lot of alcohol—just enough to throw off the taste.

The band members made their way onto the stage, and Arthur was drawn in like a magnet. Grinning at each other over his head, Celio and Gabriel watched the freshman soak up the atmosphere and the opening song like a sponge, hanging off the singer's ever word as if he was spouting the secrets of the universe into his silvered microphone.

The concert flew by too quickly, as did several drinks, and when a mosh pit broke out Arthur was right in the thick of it, having the time of his life. He head banged and rioted with the best of them, with fans much bigger than himself, clearly possessed by the driving beats and screaming guitars. He felt free and unchained, like the tight grip he kept on himself was totally loosened, and he could scream and pump his fist and exist entirely in one perfect, heart slamming moment. The drums poured through the speakers so loudly that the reverberated his rib cage, and the throng of bodies swarming around him, rather than making him feel claustrophobic, made him feel lost in a sea of manic, crazy energy. Celio was at his side, though Gabriel had drifted off somewhere, and they danced and jumped around like crazy people.

It was the most fun Arthur had ever had, and his grin stretched ear to ear as they collected their coats and filtered out of the pub after the concert and the encore had ended.

"That was bloody amazing!" Arthur raved. He was sweaty and hot, so much so that despite the freezing cold outside, Arthur didn't want to put on his jacket. The cold air hit his skin and he felt electrified. "Wasn't that amazing?" he asked, turning to Celio and Gabriel, who looked rather sleepy and a little drunk.

"Mmhmm," Gabriel agreed with an indulgent smile. Celio yawned.

"How can you guys be tired? Don't you want to…to…I dunno…_do_ something? Let's go in there!" Arthur said, pointing energetically to the tattoo parlor. Gabriel arched a surprised brow and glanced questioningly at Celio, who merely shrugged.

"The cabs are probably all claimed. We'll have to wait on one anyway. Might as well," Celio said, rubbing his hands together. His breath plumed in front of him. "Put on your jacket, you crazy kid. It's freezing out here," Celio said, his voice fond. Arthur just darted ahead of them, still grinning like a six-year-old hyped up on sugar.

"Who would have thought, huh?" Gabriel grunted amusedly. "He's running circles around us old-timers," he added.

"We also drank a fuck of a lot more than he did," Celio said, in their defense. "Plus, I'm pretty sure this is his first concert. I remember when I got that excited after a great band," Celio said wistfully. Gabriel smiled, remembering his own history of concerts and good times.

"Come on. Let's catch up before this boy of yours gets his dick pierced."

"If that's going to be the case, let's walk a little slower," Celio joked. Gabriel, however, wasn't far off the mark. Inside the shop, Arthur was watching someone get their lip pierced with wide-eyed interest.

"Does it hurt?" he asked naively. The woman getting it done just shrugged, unable to speak just yet.

"What are you looking for tonight?" the tattooist asked, eyeing Arthur as if he knew he was underage.

"I was just curious. I've never been in a tattoo parlor before," Arthur said. The tattooist chuckled wryly, dispensing with the used equipment and the wrappings.

"I would have never guessed," he said. Not picking up on the sarcasm in his slightly intoxicated state, Arthur bounced like a chipmunk from the display art on the walls, to the books filled with photos of customers, all of them ink'd and pierced.

"I want something done—something so that I'll never forget this night," Arthur said, flashing Celio and Gabriel a huge smile. The older boys exchanged smirks of amusement.

"Get a nipple piercing," Celio advised. "It'll be easier to hide at your job," he said. Arthur almost asked him what in the hell he was talking about, but he remembered at the last possible second that he was undercover as someone older—definitely not a fifteen year old high school student.

"Alright, I'll do that then," Arthur agreed. Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd never expected Arthur to actually _agree_ to it.

The crazy royal was already tugging his shirt off, looking at the various studs and earrings like a kid choosing a candy bar. The tattooist told him which ones he could get to start with, and Arthur settled on a small, stainless steel ring.

"You sure about this, kid?" the tattooist asked. Like the sex-shop worker, he didn't really seem to care overly much. Arthur nodded in determination, claiming the seat the woman had just evacuated. Celio whipped out his phone, grinning like a devil.

"Damn, Arthur…you're badass," he said. He was capturing video, but Arthur was too high on punk and rum to care. Arthur teasingly stuck his tongue out at the camera phone, before watching curiously as the tattooist sprayed his nipple with something.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"To deaden the pain. This is gonna hurt bad—one of the worst ones you can get. Are you _sure_ you want it?" he asked again. Arthur nodded, green eyes shining with determination. "Alright, then lie down," he said. Arthur reclined on the seat, and watched fascinated as his nipple was clamped. A mere two seconds later, the needle was pushed through, and Arthur barely flinched.

"_Damn_!" Celio commented. Arthur grinned sexily at the video, unaware of his own appeal. The tattooist flashed Arthur a small grin—his good mood was contagious.

"All done," he said. "You'll be sore for about a week. It will take it five months to fully heal. Ice it if it hurts, and keep it clean and dry."

"Thanks," Arthur said, eyeing his new addition with wonder. He popped up off the chair, reaching for Celio's phone. "I wanna see!" he demanded. Celio let him replay the video while the tattooist processed Arthur's payment. Forgetting all about their feud, Alfred typed in his best friend's number and sent the video.

"He's totally going to flip out," Arthur said conspiratorially. Celio's eyes widened in alarm and he tried to snatch the phone back, but Arthur danced energetically out of his reach, eyes shining with amusement. "I want to hear what he says first!"

"Who did you send that to, Arthur?" Celio asked.

"Just my best friend…ex-best friend…love of my life…person," Arthur giggled, and the phone buzzed in his hand. Celio reached for it again, but Arthur bit his lip and typed a response, after glancing at the name of the shop above the register.

The phone buzzed angrily once more in Arthur's hand a few minutes later.

"Alfred says I'm to stay here," Arthur said, casually handing the phone back to Celio, who was cringing.

"That's the rugby player, isn't it?" he asked. Arthur nodded with a dopey smile that quite suddenly began to fade into a frown.

"He…he doesn't love me," Arthur replied, rather nonsensically. Celio and Gabriel exchanged looks. Arthur was drunker than he let on. The tattooist glanced up a little disapprovingly, fairly certain he knew where this was going.

"Look, Arthur, if you want to wait around here for your friend, that's fine, but I'm going back to the school," Celio said. Arthur turned huge, imploring green eyes towards Gabriel, who scowled, suddenly looking rather mean.

"You always put me into shit like this, Celio. I'm not sticking around for those rugby assholes to show up and beat my ass. Arthur, just wait here till your friend comes. You'll be fine," Gabriel said. Still drunk, Arthur just shrugged agreeably.

"Okay. I'll see you guys later!" he replied, chipper enough once more. Celio tossed Arthur the bag from the porn store and waved goodbye rather guiltily.

"Least I can do for ditching you. Say hello to the rugby player for me," Celio added, with a hint of his usual sauciness. Arthur clutched the naughty gift bag to his bare stomach and waved goodbye. He turned back to the tattooist, who returned his card.

"You have a ride coming?" he asked. Arthur nodded.

"Alfred. He'll come for me," Arthur said. "Even if he doesn't love me, he'll come. The hero always comes, right?"

"Sure…whatever you say. Why don't you just take a seat over there and flip through a magazine or something?" the tattooist suggested, starting to sound annoyed. Arthur agreed and did as he was told, though instead of a magazine he began to play with the things Celio had bought. Roughly forty-five minutes later, Arthur had passed out on the seat and the tattooist was beginning to close down shop. He was about to kick the kid out, when another teenager came barging in, out of breath and flushed from the cold. He scanned the shop wildly, his eyes landing on Arthur with obvious relief.

"I take it you came for him?" the tattooist said. Alfred looked _pissed_.

"That kid that was here with him bailed, didn't he?" Alfred said. The tattooist shrugged.

"Yeah, him and some other kid took off after you texted him. Look, make sure he gets some ice on that piercing and tell him again in the morning he needs to keep it dry and clean."

"Whatever," Alfred growled, clearly not impressed with the man who had pierced a drunk fifteen-year-old's nipple. With gentleness that belied his anger, Alfred sunk to his knees beside Arthur and shook his shoulder. "Arthur, wake up," he said.

"Al…Alfred?" Arthur asked confusedly, sitting up and wiping at his drool with the back of his hand. Alfred winced and nodded.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?" he asked. Arthur blinked, blocking out the harsh florescent lighting with his hand.

"Where's my shirt?" Arthur asked.

"Excellent question," Alfred replied. He glanced about and finally found it draped over a chair. He fetched it and helped his old roommate into the garment, being careful around his new acquisition. Alfred was furious with Celio, but he was mostly angry with himself. He'd told Arthur's father he'd take care of his son, and this fell very firmly in the category of exactly opposite of that.

"I don't feel very good…and my nipple really hurts," Arthur whined, moving as if he were going to scratch at it. Alfred hastily aborted the motion and all but lifted the other boy up, half-carrying him out of the shop. At the door, he shed his own jacket and wrapped it around Arthur's shoulders. He had no idea where Arthur's expensive coat had ended up.

"Alright, let's go," Alfred said, helping Arthur stumble out to the waiting cab. Alfred helped his friend in and continued to hold him in his arms once inside. "Back to the school," Alfred instructed. The cab driver took off, completing his last drive for the night. It was almost 3 A.M.

It was hard work getting Arthur inside the dorm, changed into pajamas, and safe in bed. Not knowing what else to do, Alfred did an internet search on how to care for a nipple piercing and carefully disinfected it with alcohol before covering it with a large band-aid. At least with the covering on it, Arthur wouldn't tug on it while he slept. Alfred glanced through the porn shop bag with an expression torn between repulsion and curiosity, but ultimately left the bag on Arthur's nightstand. Arthur had been quiet for the most part through all of this, only gaining enough lucidity at one point to apologize, and tell Alfred rather brokenly that he loved him and missed him and just wanted him back.

Alfred maintained a rather stony silence through it all, up until that point, when he cracked and gently brushed Arthur's hair out of his eyes.

"You won't feel that way in the morning," he said. Arthur's expression was so sad and heartbroken that Alfred flinched to look at him. Returning the gesture Arthur had frequently given him, Alfred pressed his lips against Arthur's forehead in a chaste kiss. "But it'll be okay. Just rest easy, alright?" Alfred said. Arthur sniffled, his nose running a bit from the chilly air of the room, and nodded. His eyes began to droop shut. Alfred stood to leave, but Arthur reached for him and mumbled something that sounded like a request for him to stay.

Alfred was tempted, but he didn't think it would be a good idea for Arthur to wake up in bed with him after the night he'd had. He'd been taken advantage of enough. Instead, Alfred scanned the room until his eyes fell on his old bed. He wondered if it was still there…

A quick search revealed Pinky, a little dusty but otherwise in practically the same shape she'd been when he'd first bought her. He brushed her off and brought her back to Arthur's bed, tucking her carefully against the other boy's side. Arthur curled around her, snuggling against her soft fur. Alfred gave him one last, gentle smile before leaving, turning the lights of as he went.

"Sleep tight, Arthur. I'm glad you're safe," Alfred whispered into the darkened room before pulling the door closed.

**A/N: ** *smile* I hope you guys liked this chapter. I think it's my favorite so far. This is about as punk as Arthur is going to get, though he'll do a bit of experimenting with altering and decorating his own clothes, since that was a big part of the punk movement and, what with Arthur's affinity for crafting, I thought it was something he'd like.

Oh, and Kiku is finally given more than a few lines! I haven't decided _just_ how big of a role he'll play, but he and Alfred definitely had a connection, hmm? And Celio and Gabriel showed their true colors. It remains to be seen if Arthur will forgive them, or if they'll even be anything left of them to forgive once Alfred tracks them down. ;) By the way, I spelled Celio's name wrong throughout the entire last chapter. My apologies!

Also, in response to a few reviewers who are still concerned about the whole uke/seme thing. I believe my last comment was a little confusing, since I used some sarcasm when I probably shouldn't have. I was trying to say that I do not stick firmly to seme/uke labels and I'm more creative in my smut writing than to rely on them. I _do_ like seeing Arthur bottom more than top, just because it's a sexy image to me, but I'll try to keep it natural and fun and balanced. I'm not offended, but I do ask that we get to that bridge before we cross it, lol. The boys still aren't even at the age of consent yet, and I do plan for them to mature quite a bit more before any sex happens. I can't say the same for IvanXYao and FrancisXMatthew, as they might have some smut in the near future, but we've still got a ways to go for Alfred and Arthur.

Also, lol, I am aware that there are other types of sexual activity aside from penetration. We'll get to that too, all in good time! To the one reader that didn't want anything hardcore…depends on your definition of hardcore. Sorry, but the story is rated M! Fun trivia: that stick in the butt ring game? I actually saw that at the last S&M ball I attended. The "dealer" rooms at those things are freaking _out_ there.


	27. Matthew's Confession

Chapter 27

Matthew awoke lazily Saturday morning to the scent of maple syrup, which was always a good thing. He stretched, causing the sleeves of one of Francis's old dress shirts to slide down his slender arms.

"Francis?" he called, stifling a yawn. But his boyfriend didn't seem to be in the room. That was rather odd, as Matthew was quite sure he'd fallen asleep in Francis's arms the night before, and he was a fairly light sleeper. If Francis had gotten up, he surely would have awoken.

Matthew's nose twitched again, luring him towards the elegant little table set up beside his bed. He peered over his pillows and smiled in delight. A plate with two heart-shaped pancakes, a single rose in a vase, and a folded little card were elegantly arranged on the table. Matthew reached for the card.

_You are beautiful._

Matthew's heart melted into a pile of goo and he eagerly pulled the table to the side of the bed, breathing in the scent of the beautiful rose and smiling sappily at the perfectly made pancakes. They were so cute, he almost didn't want to eat them. He hesitated only a moment, though, before he ate his fill, practically moaning at the buttery, syrup-soaked perfection that was Francis's pancakes. Done with his luxurious breakfast in bed, Matthew moved towards the bathroom only to notice a trail of his favorite candies on the floor. He picked them up curiously as he made his way to the bathroom. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary inside. As was his habit, he used the toilet and brushed his teeth before turning the shower on as hot as he could stand. After a long, relaxing soak, Matthew exited the tub and blinked in surprise at the mirror. Once he had fogged up the bathroom, he was able to view Francis's next message:

_You are my treasure. _

The swirling French words in the foggy moisture made Matthew a little breathless. He touched a finger to the glass, biting his lip. What had he possible done to deserve such a special morning seemingly out of the blue?

His towel wrapped securely around his hips, Matthew re-entered the bedroom to find that Francis had returned, and was dressed only in sunlight as he sat in the armchair by the window, another little card held casually between the tips of his fingers. Grinning, Matthew crossed the bedroom and took the card, leaning over to kiss Francis sweetly before opening it.

_I love you._

Matthew's eyes were full of emotion when his gaze lifted to Francis's. The two of them had shared so much in the past three weeks, connecting on a deep level after Francis's troubles with his parents. They'd cried together and explored each other's bodies in all new ways. Matthew didn't think it was possible to love another person as much as he loved Francis.

But his winter fling was a dark stain on his happiness. He rarely saw Gilbert, and in fact, went to great pains to avoid him. The other boy didn't appear to have told anyone Matthew's secret, but Matthew no longer cared if he did. The whole school could call him a stoner and a whore and he wouldn't care…but he didn't want Francis to be hurt by his stupid mistake. He loved his boyfriend, and while he'd temporarily strayed, Matthew couldn't bear the idea of losing Francis over it. He had to tell him, though. He couldn't let Francis think there was nothing between them now—couldn't let the other boy be so heart-breakingly _good_ to him—without Francis knowing just what sort of person he was.

His lips slanted desperately over Francis's, wishing he hadn't been so stupid, wishing he'd known that his troubles with Francis were only temporary. The high he'd felt from doing something bad—the feelings of freedom it had granted him—were now fading into the reality of what he had done and a suffocating feeling of guilt. He'd always been the good one, but something about being with Francis made it impossibly hard. First he'd crossed the line with Alfred, and then with Gilbert. He _loved_ his boyfriend, so why couldn't he control himself?

"Matthew, _mon cher_, why these tears?" Francis asked. The pure, happy light in his eyes had transformed into worry. Matthew swallowed thickly, brushing at the tears on his cheeks absently. He forced a smile.

"I'm just happy, that's all. I feel so lucky to have you, because I don't deserve you…really I don't," Matthew said. Francis looked at him as if he were being silly, and gave him a loving smooch.

"What's this nonsense? I have tried to make you smile, but I have made you sad," Francis said, brushing Matthew's wet locks behind his ears and clearly trying to make it better. Matthew leaned into his arms, burying his face in Francis's neck.

"I love you, Francis, that's all. I _am_ happy. You're perfect," Matthew said, his voice breaking slightly on his last words. Francis seemed a little confused, as if he understood that Matthew was both touched and forlorn, but could not discern why. He decided actions spoke louder than words, however, and began to comfortingly stroke up and down Matthew's bare back, his fingers teasing the grip of the towel. Matthew surrendered to his touches and peppered kisses over the stubble on Francis's jaw. Francis shifted, allowing Matthew to crawl into his lap. Only the towel was between them, and Francis was a little amazed that Matthew had become so confident to allow himself to be seen in the light of the morning, with barely anything on. Something had changed the boy he cared so much for, but Francis didn't have a clue as to what had finally loosened Matthew's inhibitions.

Whatever it was, he was grateful.

USUK

Arthur decided it was going to be a terrible day. For starters, the night before he had gotten drunk in public, pierced his nipple, and probably said some very embarrassing things to his old roommate—whom he had roused out of bed in the middle of the night and called upon to come pick his sorry arse up from a seedy part of town. He might have thought Alfred was angry at him, but the way he'd been so carefully cared for and tucked into bed (with Pinky, no less) told Arthur that his ex-best friend had been quite wonderful.

Which was a bitter pill to swallow, because it made it harder to stay mad at him for being a jerk when he went around being all sweet and gentlemanly.

'_He's doing it on purpose—just to mess with me!'_ Arthur thought vindictively. A shooting pain stabbed through his nipple and he winced. _'That's IT_, _Arthur! No more drinking! No good _ever_ comes of it!'_ he berated himself. Finally, his need to piss forced him out of bed and into the bathroom. When that business was finished, he neatly brushed his teeth, and then gently peeled back the bandage to inspect his act of rebellion. He figured it would look ridiculous, and incredibly gay, but he was actually a little surprised.

Well, it _did_ look incredibly gay…but it was kind of hot. Arthur squinted at the reflection of his slender chest in the mirror. _'Have I always had such attractive nipples?' _he mused, pinching the non-pierced one slightly and admiring its rather perfect roundness. The little hoop of metal winked merrily against his pale skin, and while the area around it was still rather swollen and abused looking, it sent a jolt of naughty excitement up Arthur's spine. He struck a provocative pose, and winked at his reflection.

'_Well aren't I just a sexy little minx?'_ he thought saucily, throwing in a flirty wink. His mirror self agreed, and winked back. Arthur struck another pose, showing off the little bit of metal by arching his back a bit. He was startled out of his imaginary cover shoot by a harsh, loud knocking on the door. Arthur turned red, coming back to reality to realize he'd just been flirting with himself in a mirror, of all things. He hastily covered the piercing back up with the bandage and tugged his T-shirt back on. He wondered if it was Alfred at the door, or perhaps Celio coming to see if he'd made it back alright.

When he opened the door, there was actually nobody there at all. Instead, a rather somber looking wreath of autumnal flowers waited for him. Arthur had seen such arrangements before—at funeral services. He brought the wreath inside, rummaging about in the foliage for a few moments before he found what he was looking for—a discreet little card that read, in elegant typed script:

_Gone yet not forgotten_

_Although we are apart_

_Your spirit lives within me_

_Forever in my heart._

_For a Grandmother who was dearly loved _

_And shall be dearly missed. _

Arthur dropped the wreath in shock, nearly stumbling as he floundered to find his phone. He knew when a beloved monarch died, her people often expressed sorrow by dropping off wreaths and flowers with little messages of comfort, but Arthur never imagined he would hear the news in such a way. He noticed that he'd missed nearly ten calls from his mother, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. How could his grandmum be dead? How could he just be finding out now, via a wreath some well-wisher had left outside his door? She'd been healthy just the day before, when Arthur had called her and asked if she'd received the mittens he'd sent her.

His mother answered, and Arthur was already crying.

"Mum! What happened? What happened to grandmum?" Arthur asked. His mother, however, only yelled in response.

"_She's died of embarrassment, that's what!" _

"W-what?" Arthur asked, growing more and more confused by the second. "I…I…got flowers…in the hall—"

"_What the bloody hell are you rambling about? Are you still drunk? Arthur, your father and I are on our way to the school right now. You have some serious explaining to do! The both of us are beside ourselves in disappointment!" _Mary screeched.

"But…how did you know I was drunk last night? Regardless, I really don't think that matters much considering grandmum is dead!" Arthur replied.

"_Oh for God's sake, Arthur, she's not really dead! It's just an expression! Quit trying to play dumb to get out of trouble—that only works for Patrick!"_ his mother shouted. Arthur confusedly eyed the little card in his hand, and then glanced up to the door, where Alfred was doing a fairly decent job of imitating a tomato and waving to catch his attention. In his grief and surprise, Arthur must have left the door open, and Alfred had heard his distress.

"So…grandmum is alright? She's alive?" Arthur verified. His mother growled at him on the phone.

"_I don't know what game you're playing, young man, but when I get there, I'm going to bend you over my knee and spank your bottom till it bleeds for all the trouble you've caused! I've raised three boys through their teen years and not _once _has there been a scandal in the papers, but you, my baby! If I keep talking, I'm going to say something I will likely regret. You make yourself decent and get that chunk of metal out of your nipple if you know what's good for you before I reach the school!"_ There was a click, and then a busy tone, indicating his mother had hung up on him.

Arthur stared blankly at his cell phone for a moment, his head spinning.

"I should have known I was getting the wrong thing! I'm sorry, Arthur! I just thought they were pretty flowers, and Berwald said—"

"_YOU_ left these on my doorstep? What the HELL, Alfred? Did you think you were playing some kind of sick joke? Payback for last night? You don't joke about someone's grandmother dying! First you ruin her portrait and now you pull this? What has my grandmum _ever_ done to you?"

"B-but I didn't realize they were dead grandmother flowers! I've never bought flowers before!" Alfred tried to explain, but Arthur would hear none of it. He was already throwing things—whatever he could get his hands on.

"Get OUT! You're a total _wanker_! I can't believe you'd pull such a nasty prank, and even worse, you sent that video to my parents! You called them, didn't you? Thought you were being clever? Well I hope you choke on a cheeseburger and die, you spectacular arsehead!"

Yelping in pain as a boot connected rather solidly with his head, Alfred scrambled out of the room and shut the door behind him. For a moment, he slouched panting outside the door before Arthur rammed it on the other side, giving Alfred a jolt of fearful surprise. He leapt away from the door, running on all fours a few moments before tripping to his feet and scrambling down the hallway like his life depending on it. Considering Arthur's mood, it likely did.

Fearing the worst, Arthur hastily turned on his computer to see that he had made headlines on nearly every popular news site. In just a span of a few hours, his reputation as a quiet, shy teenage heartthrob had been replaced by captions claiming he was secretly a wild party boy, accompanied with fuzzy pictures snapped of him at the concert with drinks in his hand. It was nightmarish, and it was one headline after another, each worse than the last:

_**Prince Arthur Spotted in a Gay Bar!**_

_**A Royal Mess: The Little Prince gets in Big Trouble! **_

_**Out of the Closet and into Rehab—Prince Arthur's Wild Night!**_

And it got worse. The video of his piercing was on the internet, and it had already been slammed with hits. As Arthur refreshed the page, the number of views jumped by hundreds.

"Bloody _fuck_," Arthur moaned. Furious with his shitty, terrible, absolutely _rotten_ life, Arthur kicked vindictively at the funeral wreath and sent it flying in a spray of leaves and petals. He was going to _kill_ Alfred for leaking the video. He was going to kill him with his bare hands!

Arthur slammed his door open and stared down the hall, like an enraged bull. A few classmates jumped out of his way as he barreled through them, shoving them roughly aside. He heard the whispers swell behind him.

"He _totally_ looks hungover. Did you see the video?"

"He's on a crazy bender ever since that dorky kid Alfred dumped him."

Growing more and more enraged, Arthur banged furiously on Ivan's door, shouting all the while.

"Come out, you bloody coward! I'm going to castrate you for posting that video!" Just as Ivan answered the door scowling, protectively blocking Alfred, Arthur was distracted by Celio, who came sprinting down the hall towards them.

"_There_ you are! Arthur, I did all I could, but Alfred was not the only one you sent the video to last night—you sent it to my entire contact list! Somebody leaked it to the press. They're already calling me trying to get an interview," Celio said, huffing and out of breath. Arthur felt the hot air deflate out of his balloon. Ivan raised a brow at him, as if to say, 'Now what are you going to do?'

"Oh…so Alfred didn't…that is to say…" Arthur trailed off, feeling awkward. Ivan glared at him accusingly.

"You need to watch yourself. Keep assuming the worst about your only friend and he's eventually going to prove you right," Ivan warned. Intimidated, and just a little disturbed by the taller boy's aura of death vibes, Arthur took a hesitant step backwards. Shyly, Alfred peeked over Ivan's shoulder.

"Easy, Ivan. Arthur's just had a rough morning. I certainly didn't help with my flowers. I swear I was just trying to do something nice. Berwald told me that when he fights with Timo, he gives him flowers so that he'll be forgiven, but he didn't tell me what _kind_ of flowers, and there were so many at the shop, and I didn't want to get something girly. I just thought those looked nice! I didn't see the card, I swear! And I'm really sorry the video leaked, Arthur. I can tell your dad it was my fault—I should have been looking out for you."

Arthur took another step back, hugging himself protectively and feeling rather trapped despite the spaciousness of the hallway. On one side, he had Celio, explaining to him that it had been his own drunken stupidity that been responsible for leaking such a private experience to the world, while Ivan was glaring at him for making a dick of himself and threatening Alfred, who had really done nothing but been sweet since the whole mess began.

Arthur didn't know what to do or say in such an awkward position, so after an anguished glance at Alfred, he simply took off running, returning once more to the safety of his room. Or at least, that's what he _tried_ to do. He found his way blocked off by a rather pissy looking Headmaster instead, who beckoned him to follow with a disapproving glare.

Alfred had tailed him. He stopped at the sight of the Headmaster, but called out in support, "It'll be okay, Arthur. Just tell the truth about what happened. Maybe you'll get cleaning duty with me!"

Arthur shot him a pathetic glance over his shoulder before he and the Headmaster turned the corner at a brisk pace, and he was hauled off to his uncertain fate.

USUK

"Now, what to do with you lot," the school counselor said, eying each boy in turn. In front of her sat Arthur, looking thoroughly humiliated and browbeaten (courtesy of his mother and father, who had finally left after hours of lecturing him that morning), Lovino, a hot-headed sophomore with anger-management issues and a tendency to get in fights, and Gilbert, who still looked a little high off the weed he'd been caught smoking just that morning.

The three boys wore very different expressions, ranging from annoyed, to mortified, and (in Gilbert's case) apathetic.

"I've discussed your individual cases with the Headmaster and we've come up with a solution we think will benefit all of you. You three have shown some serious scorn for the rules and the traditions of excellence associated with World Academy. You've started fights and caused bad press for the school. With that in mind, the Headmaster thinks you should all have to do something to polish up your images a bit. Conveniently enough, your classmate, Alfred Jones, has started a community service club this year. Arthur is already a member, but from henceforth, you are all required to log forty hours of community service through club participation before the end of the semester. I have replaced the coach as the faculty sponsor for the club, and I'll be overseeing the fulfillment of your hours."

Instantly, all three boys began to protest.

"I'm not a member of that stupid club anymore! The _last_ thing I want to do is see Alfred!" Arthur declared. Lovino was already cursing.

"Fuck that! I'm not joining Queer Club, and I'm not helping them with their retarded shit!"

"I'll contribute some special brownies to a bake sale or something. Is that the kind of community service we're talking here?" Gilbert asked, kicking his dirty sneakers up onto the counselor's desk. She shoved them off with practiced ease.

"Look, amigos, I got you off _light_. If we go buy the rule book, you'd all be doing a stint in alternative school. This is your _last_ warning: you better check yourself, before you wreck yourself. You hear me?" she asked, directing the question at Gilbert. He scowled at her.

"Stop trying to sound cool. You just sound lame," Gilbert accused.

"Your face is lame. Now get out of my office, and go better your community," she ordered. Gilbert childishly stuck out his tongue.

"My face is awesome—_awesome_, you hear me?"

"Ah huh, whatever you say, Gilbert. Lovino, you owe me two dollars in the swear jar."

"I'm not giving you anymore of my fucking cash!" Lovino growled. The counselor pointed towards a jar on her shelf labeled _Margarita Money_.

"That's another dollar. Keep going, buddy; just this session alone is gonna pay for happy hour."

Reluctantly, and grumbling all the while, Lovino shoved some bills into the jar and stormed out. Arthur winced at being sorted into the same group as such crude boys.

"And _speaking_ of happy hour, you're going cold turkey on the bottle as of today, you feel me, boozy?"

"I _beg _your pardon!" Arthur replied, drawing himself up to his full height. He'd endured _quite_ enough abuse in one morning, and he was drawing the line at being nicknamed "boozy" by a school official. The counselor smirked and sized him up.

"I can tell you're not really a troublemaker, Arthur, and I know the fight you're in with Alfred is the real reason you're acting out like this. That's why I'm _really_ forcing you back into the club. You need to talk to him and sort everything out. You'll both be happier in the long run. Understand?" she verified. Feeling sheepish, Arthur ducked his head after nodding rather pathetically.

Before all three boys could get too far out into the hall, the counselor leaned out of her office and shouted one last admonishment, "Next time kindly rebel during typical school hours! Nobody wants to work on the damned weekend!"

"HEY! You cursed! Put a fucking dollar in the jar!" Lovino roared back. The counselor just smiled, and shut her door. That kid was hopeless.

USUK

Matthew tracked Alfred down while he was anxiously waiting for Arthur to return from the office. To keep himself busy, he was working on the final design for the new Hero Club poster. He'd created a new logo, and put together a rather professional looking theme of partnership, cooperation, and progress. Matthew glanced over it in surprise.

"Wow, Alfred, that looks amazing!" Matthew praised. Alfred smiled proudly.

"You really think so? I'm trying to take the club in a new direction. Arthur's dad gave me the idea," he said.

"That's cool. I'm really proud to be an original member now," Matthew said cheerily. As he sat beside Alfred at the library table, however, his smile began to fade. "It's funny that you should be working on Hero Club stuff right now because I could actually use some hero advice."

Alfred blinked in surprise, his pencil freezing on the poster. "You want advice…from _me?_" he asked incredulously. Matthew huffed a bit in amusement.

"Don't look so shocked, Alfie. When you're not being clueless, you're a pretty decent guy."

"If you say so…what's bugging you?" Alfred asked, resuming his sketching but obviously paying close attention. Matthew bit his lip.

"Francis was really amazing this morning. He made me breakfast in bed, flowers, little romantic messages all over the room—more attention and love than I _ever_ expected," Matthew said. Alfred winced.

"Figures Francis could pull it off. I tried giving Arthur flowers this morning. I hoped taking care of him last night might make him forgive me a little, and the flowers this morning would show I was really sorry…but it all went horribly, horribly wrong," Alfred said.

"Yeah…I saw the internet video and all the bad press, but that's not your fault," Matthew consoled.

"No, but I accidentally gave him funeral flowers with a card tucked in them offering condolences for the death of his grandma. Arthur thought she'd died and started freaking out before the video thing even happened," Alfred said with a sigh. Matthew stared for a moment, simply speechless, and then began to chuckle. His chuckling turned into unrestrained laughter (which was still fairly quiet, considering it was Matthew) but the librarian swept by and gave them disapproving looks. Alfred scowled.

"Jeez…it's not _that_ funny. We can't all be smooth like perfect Francis," Alfred groused. Matthew giggled once more and then managed to get control of himself.

"Oh, Alfred…you really are something else. Poor Arthur—it's like the morning from hell."

"Okay! I get it! I messed up something as simple as flowers! Can we get back to _your_ problem?" Alfred said with a pout. Matthew smiled affectionately at him.

"I'm afraid I messed up something, too. Alfred…if you did something you really regretted…something you knew at the time would hurt someone you loved, but you did it anyway…would you tell them?"

Alfred frowned, putting the pieces together in his head. "What did you do that would hurt Francis? Aside from that whole making out with me thing, that is," Alfred said sheepishly. Matthew frowned.

"It's something really serious this time—not just an innocent kiss. We weren't technically dating, but I can't help but feel as though I've cheated on him. Over winter break…well…you see…I-smoked-some-pot-with-Gilbert-and-sucked-him-off," Matthew mumbled in a rush. Alfred blinked a few times, clearly shocked, before he managed to close his mouth.

"Uh…"

"I _know_ it was wrong, and I'm never going to mess with pot again, or with Gilbert for that matter," Matthew hastily added. He was blushing now, and looking quite miserable. Alfred sighed, taking pity on his friend.

"If it were me…I would just be honest. He might be really mad at you—might even hate you for awhile—but something I've learned recently is that it's easier than you think to hurt people you care about without really meaning to do it. We're all human, ya know? We can't be expected to get it right all the time. So…tell Francis what happened, and tell him how sorry you are. He doesn't have to give you a second chance, but working really hard to earn one couldn't hurt your chances," Alfred advised. Matthew wore a sad little smile.

"Is that what you're doing, Alfred? Working to earn a second chance with Arthur?" he asked meekly. Alfred shrugged.

"I'm realizing how badly I hurt him. I was so wrapped up in my own head that I didn't see just how much he was putting himself out there. We both made mistakes, and we're both hurting. I just don't want to fight anymore. I'll do whatever it takes to show Arthur that I…that I really love him."

Matthew blinked in surprise. Alfred looked equally shaken up.

"Did you…"

"Mean that? Huh…I guess I do. I love Arthur. I want to fix things between us, no matter the cost," Alfred said, gaining confidence in the declaration. Matthew found himself grinning.

"Yeah, and I love Francis, so we've got to make things right," Matthew said. They shared determined smiles.

"So…what was pot like?" Alfred whispered, pitching his voice conspiratorially low. Matthew bit his lip, smiling a little mischievously.

"Honestly? For the first time in my life, it made me drop all my inhibitions. I've never just let go like that…but as I've learned the hard way, inhibitions can also prevent you from doing really stupid things."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed with a grin, "Like sucking off a loser like Gilbert."

"Exactly. While I love the confidence boost, I could have done without Gilbert's involvement."

Alfred winced on behalf of his friend. "Man, I hope it all goes okay with Francis. When are you going to tell him?" Arthur asked. Matthew's eyes glittered in determination.

"Tonight. I can't put it off any longer."

For the next hour or so, until Alfred realized it was time to go check on Arthur and see if he'd been released yet, he and Matthew debated how Matthew could break the news to Francis, and talked about how he was likely to react.

USUK

Matthew entered his dorm room and gave Francis a nervous smile in reply to his cheery greeting. By the way Matthew remained standing unsurely in the doorway, Francis knew something was bothering his boyfriend.

"What's wrong, Matthew? You look pale," Francis said, as he set aside his laptop. Matthew inched closer, finally settling on the end of the bed. Francis patted the spot next to him, grinning charmingly. "I don't bite…hard," Francis teased. Matthew, however, swallowed thickly and stayed where he was.

"We need to talk," he said. He hadn't meant to use that phrase, as he felt like it was always used by someone right before a couple had a huge fight, but it had slipped out. Sure enough, Francis's happy expression slowly morphed into one of nervousness.

"Alright," he said levelly. Matthew knotted his fingers nervously, popping his knuckles and staring hard at the duvet.

"There's something I have to tell you…and I'm worried you might not love me anymore once I say it. So, if that's the case, I want to tell you now that you've made me the happiest I've ever been in my life. This year with you has been everything to me. Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe I had a chance with you. You're too good for me, you know?" Matthew said, still unable to lift his eyes.

A gentle touch to his chin caused him to glance up in surprise. Francis was giving him a kind look. He leaned forward, chastely pressing their lips together.

"Please tell me what's worrying you, so we can put it behind us already," Francis said with confidence. Matthew stared into his gorgeous blue eyes and _hated_ himself for what he'd done. To be where he was now, looking into the eyes of the boy he idolized, to tell him that he'd messed up again…he was disgusted with himself. There were no other words for it. It felt horrible.

"I…I got high with Gilbert over winter break," Matthew began. Francis's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Matthew…what were you thinking? What on earth made you want to do such a thing with that idiot?" Francis asked. Matthew winced.

"It gets worse," Matthew said. Francis pulled back slightly, shaking his head.

"Oh, Matthew…tell me you didn't," he said. Matthew winced.

"I was high, and it made me feel like I was being bad ass for once in my life, and I got really horny…I gave him a blowjob, Francis."

Francis was quiet for a long time. This time it was him avoiding Matthew's eyes. Biting his lip, Matthew looked closely at the other boy and saw the wetness pooling around his lashes. It was torture, seeing the pain he had caused. He reached out for Francis, fully expecting to be pushed away, but Francis leaned into his touch.

"Do you…have feelings for him?" Francis asked. Matthew hastily shook his head.

"None, Francis. I love you, more than anything. I was confused and I just wanted to do something crazy. I really don't know what came over me," Matthew said. Francis gave a small nod.

"And the reason you've been so…uninhibited lately? Are you still getting high?" Francis asked. Matthew fervently shook his head.

"No! Gilbert gave me some pot, but I threw it away. I don't want to become like him—brain dead and going nowhere in life. I swear I don't know what made me do it. It's just that…sometimes I feel like I'm not experienced enough for you. I feel like you're unsatisfied with me, because of how prudish I am. You're good looking, and charming, and _so_ smart, and I'm just boring, plain old Matthew. I felt like I was doing something interesting for once. I know it's not any sort of excuse, but that's what was going through my head," Matthew said.

Francis was quiet for a long time, simply thinking it over. Finally, he stood, lightly tugging Matthew to his feet.

"I still love you, Matthew. I want to sleep on it before we talk anymore. I just need to…adjust to the idea," Francis said maturely. Matthew nearly sagged in relief. Unable to help it, he flung himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Francis's neck. The taller boy caught him with an 'oomph' of surprise, but smiled fondly after a moment. He briefly squeezed Matthew in his arms, kissing his temple.

"I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness, Francis," Matthew vowed. His boyfriend gently loosened Matthew's grasp on his neck.

"You do not have to earn my forgiveness, Matthew. When I am ready to give it, it will be yours. I'm not entirely sure there's anything to even forgive. We weren't together at the time, and you were honest with me about it. That's all I ask—for you to _talk_ to me. But it's getting late, and I'll have a clearer head in the morning. For now, let's go to bed."

Matthew nodded, not quite able to believe his luck. He dressed hastily in his pajamas, unsure of which bed to sleep in. Since school had started, he'd shared with Francis, but now he didn't know if that invitation still stood. Francis, who had been changing and brushing his teeth in the bathroom, slipped up behind him and wrapped his arm around Matthew's middle. Matthew felt Francis place a kiss against the crown of his head.

"Get into bed, _mon cher_," Francis said, nodding towards his bed. He gave Matthew an encouraging pat on the rear when he still hesitated.

"Are you sure you don't mind, Francis? I can sleep in my own bed if you want some space," Matthew said, glancing fretfully over his shoulder. Francis merely leaned forward and kissed his nose.

"Bed. Now," Francis insisted. Still nervous, Matthew climbed into bed and lay awkwardly on his back as Francis climbed in. The only difference from their usual routine was that Francis didn't spend a half hour kissing him and teasing his body before sucking him off or tugging him to completion, before Matthew did the same in return. Instead, Francis turned onto his side and was quiet. Biting on his lip, Matthew tucked up against Francis's back and buried his face in the material of the other boy's nightshirt. He could smell Francis's cologne, still lingering on his skin, and he could smell the detergent he'd used on his cotton shirt. Matthew drifted off to sleep to the comforting presence of his boyfriend, praying in his mind that it would not be the last night he'd have the opportunity to do so.

**A/N:** I went back and forth on how this last scene would play out, but in the end, I figured as long as Matthew wasn't messing around with Alfred again, Francis would probably be more forgiving. I also considered how close they've grown together over the past few weeks, and how Francis really _needs_ Matthew now. He'd be less likely to dump Matthew over a fling that didn't mean anything when they weren't even dating. Besides, I figured he'd handle their fighting a little more maturely this time, having learned something from the first round. There will be more discussion about it, but I didn't think it would be some big messy scene like it would be if it involved Alfred and Arthur.

As to switching their names, I sincerely apologize. It's one of those mistakes that's hard for me to catch when I'm skimming back over the chapters, as I mix up their names a lot even when I talk about them out loud. I will carefully find each mistake and fix them when I repost chapters, but for now, just let me know when you spot one and forgive me, please!

A lot of you were like "Wha? Nobody noticed Arthur?" They most certainly did, but I didn't want Arthur to realize people were snapping photos of him and speculating, as this is really his first experience with going out on his own and rule-breaking. I wanted him to learn the hard way that celebrities can't get away with anything! Also, to answer another question, the singer was not a country representative. He's just a random singer.

Oh, and there are two new fanarts for you to enjoy, courtesy of some super awesome reviewers:

i1142(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/n611/catmilkakai/lc(dot)png -and-

http: / i51 . tinypic . com / 10h8ynr . jpg


	28. Stickers on a Guitar Case

Chapter 28

"Are you going to watch one of those stupid television shows again?" Ivan asked frowning. He'd finally found his two closest friends in Yao and Kiku's room, the three of them (Alfred, Yao and Kiku) crowded around a computer monitor talking excitedly about characters as if they were real.

Well, mostly it was Alfred and Kiku talking excitedly, while Yao wore a smug little expression that revealed to Ivan he was attempting to matchmake.

"It is so funny how you both love this show so much," Yao remarked, with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Kiku flushed with color, his pale cheeks darkening very noticeably, while Alfred obliviously smiled.

"Yeah! It was kinda random how me and Kiku started watching that last one. You wanna watch with us, Ivan?" Alfred asked, twisting around to look at him. Ivan snorted and dropped onto Yao's perfectly made bed, using his panda as a pillow.

"No. I hate squinting at those tiny little subtitles, and none of them ever fuck each other," Ivan commented. Kiku frowned primly, and Yao shot him a half-amused, half-chastising expression. Alfred had been very happy to see Yao spending less time hanging around himself the past few weeks, and more time with Ivan. It seemed Yao was coming to terms with the darker aspect of Ivan's nature, and was learning to accept it. It was easy to forget it was even there most days. Since reuniting with Yao, Ivan had been downright happy-go-lucky.

But he still wouldn't be lured into watching an Asian drama. Not as obsessed as the other two, Yao missed part of the first episode because he was cuddling with Ivan on his bed, whispering something about Kiku and Alfred. Kiku strained his ears to hear, paranoid his roommate was telling his secret, but Alfred had tunnel vision for the television.

Kiku reluctantly was sucked into the show, his dark eyes alternating between watching the characters and flickering to Alfred. He couldn't help but notice how the other boy had changed over their freshman year. He was still fairly thin, but all of his rugby practice had padded him with rather nice musculature. His shoulders were broad, and Kiku was distracted by thoughts of how nice it might be to have Alfred's arms wrapped around him. They looked so strong and appealing. Kiku had not been exposed to Americans much at all before coming to World Academy, and while he found many of Alfred's mannerisms and customs unsettling, he couldn't deny that he was beginning to have a bit of a crush on his roommate's friend.

Sometimes, Alfred would glance at him in a way that was the total opposite of obliviousness, as if he were very aware of Kiku's blushes and stammering—as he if found him just a little bit cute, too. Kiku had never really thought much about romance before, but he'd spent the first six months of school as the third wheel to Ludwig and Feliciano, and the sexual tension building between those two was impossible to ignore. It had made him start to examine his own heart, and his heart had led him to noticing Alfred Jones.

But it was still very new, and Kiku didn't dare say anything. He knew the American boy was possibly dating Arthur from the student council. If he wasn't dating him, then they were at least very close. Kiku probably didn't have a chance. Yao had suspected the reason for his occasional melancholy looks around Alfred and heckled him until he'd confessed his crush. Despite being casual friends with Arthur, Yao insisted Alfred was a much better match for _him_, and so had been trying to help set them up.

For the entire month of January, Alfred had seemed fairly oblivious to this plan. Speaking of Alfred, the boy in question felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he asked Kiku to pause the drama.

"One second. This is probably Matthew," he said. Kiku frowned ever-so-slightly, and stopped the drama. Alfred read his text message, his brows furrowing down in displeasure.

"What is it?" Kiku asked.

"It's from my dad. He hasn't messaged me since my mom's visit went so badly. Now he says…he says he's coming to my last rugby game this season to watch me play and to talk about things," Alfred said, his tone dark.

"Your dad…the President, right?" Kiku confirmed. Alfred glanced up distractedly and nodded.

"Yeah. His visit is probably work related. I seriously doubt he's just coming to see me screw up a rugby game."

"Oh," Kiku replied, not quite knowing what to say. Alfred's usually chipper mood had crashed. The American boy started to stand up.

"Hey, listen, you guys start without me. I need to go talk to Arthur about this," he said. Kiku and Yao exchanged quick glances, and both of them protested at the same time.

"But we were just starting the show," Yao said. Kiku, however, being a very smart kid, tried a different approach.

"Oh…I am sorry you are leaving, Alfred-kun. I was going to make you Japanese food," Kiku said. Alfred paused at the door, his big blue eyes opening wide in surprise.

"Really? Man, Kiku, that's super nice of you! What are you making?" Alfred asked. Kiku blushed, feeling a little embarrassed now that everyone's attention was on himself.

"I thought…we could make rice balls."

"That sounds cool! I wanna learn how. I can talk to Arthur about my dad later…he probably still doesn't want to talk to me much anyway. He's always busy hanging out with that jerk Celio these days," Alfred complained, returning to the rug. Kiku flashed a small smile, but on the inside he was cheering. Yao flashed him a secretive thumbs up behind Alfred's head, and Ivan rolled his eyes and snorted at their antics.

Though Kiku had never thought he'd be using the advice instead of it being applied to himself, his mother had always told him the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. His desire to go talk with his old roommate forgotten, Alfred put the call from his father out of his mind and returned to watching the episode.

Kiku waited till the credits were rolling before he brought up a subject he knew Alfred would have a lot to say about.

"The first meeting of the Hero Club is soon, right?" Kiku confirmed. "I saw the posters around campus—they looked very good."

"Thanks! Yeah, we're meeting up tomorrow in the gym. You should totally come!" Alfred said. Kiku flushed with color.

"O-okay," Kiku said. After a moment of blushing and feeling embarrassed he hastily added, "Can Ludwig and Feliciano come, too?"

"Sure, man, the more the merrier!" Alfred said, clearly happy that someone was expressing interest in joining his club. Still blushing faintly, and ignoring Yao's snickering, Kiku started the next episode.

They watched another two before Ivan's complaints of boredom finally convinced them to stop and break for an early dinner. Kiku brought out his miniature rice cooker and by mixing the food supplies their parents had sent them, Yao and Kiku managed to assemble a fairly delicious meal. It made for a nice break from the British cafeteria food, and Alfred and Ivan practically inhaled it. Kiku was a little horrified by how much Alfred could pack away, but Yao seemed accustomed to it already and kept telling him "Just triple the recipe—trust me!"

Kiku had taught Alfred how to measure the water in the rice cooker so that it was the perfect amount, and showed him the trick of salting his hands before rolling the rice. Even after he'd consumed nearly fifteen rice balls, Alfred began assembling another one.

"I'll take it with me—don't want it to go to waste!" Alfred chirruped. Kiku was pleased that the American boy liked his cooking so much and flashed him a shy smile.

"I will cook for you again sometime. Japanese food is very healthy," he said. Snickering into his last rice ball (the first time he'd seemed so happy in quite awhile) Yao felt the need to comment.

"This is almost like a double date!" he said. Now Alfred was oblivious, but he wasn't _that_ oblivious. His eyes flew nervously to Kiku's, who blushed and looked away hastily. The mood turned a little awkward.

"Err…well hey! It's been really fun…but I gotta go. I'll see you guys at the meeting?" Alfred said, excusing himself. Kiku nodded, unable to meet Alfred's eyes, and Yao smirked.

"We will _definitely_ be there," Yao said. Ivan grinned in wicked amusement at Alfred's discomfort and waved casually goodbye.

"Cool. Okay…bye then!" Alfred left, the little rice ball held carefully in his hand. Once he was out in the hallway, he took a moment to puzzle over Yao's pointed comment and shook his head.

"He must have been just joking around, because of how much I've been hanging out with him and Kiku lately," Alfred assured himself. Feeling a little less embarrassed, Alfred headed down the halls of the dorm until he reached Arthur's door.

He knocked, not really expecting an answer. After the whole mess with the flowers and the video leaking two weeks before, Alfred had hoped Arthur's anger with him would have cooled somewhat, but things still felt tense. It didn't help that Alfred had expected Arthur to never associate with Celio again, but Arthur didn't act as if the other boy had done anything dishonorable. When Alfred had finally confronted him about it all, Arthur had just blushed and said that it had been his own fault for getting drunk and that Celio didn't have any obligations to babysit him all night. He'd gone on to make a rather jaded comment about chivalry being dead, and that he was quite capable of taking care of himself. Alfred had disagreed with that (what else would Arthur have done that night if Alfred hadn't come for him?) but his roommate seemed to want to gloss over the incident and put it firmly in the category of 'it never happened.' At least they were talking again, though it was minimal, and Arthur didn't seem to fly into a rage upon just seeing him.

All of that was good, because Alfred was starting to realize just how badly he had it for the other boy. Matthew hypothesized that Alfred only wanted Arthur more now that he thought he couldn't have him, and when Alfred was being very honest with himself, he knew that was at least partially true.

But he _did_ care about Arthur—loved him even—or at least thought he did. He couldn't stop thinking about him, for one thing, and his so called crush on Ivan had vanished after just one week of living with the other boy. Ivan, being the most masculine out of the group, thought nothing of taking a massive crap and then calling Alfred in to smell it, or wearing the same T-shirt for days on end until it started reeking. He didn't shave, half the time he forgot deodorant, and there was _nothing_ cute about Ivan when he was drunk. Ivan was hard-edged all the time, and he never seemed to soften up and show a more vulnerable side. Even when he was being all mushy with Yao, he was still a little disturbingly intense.

But spending so much time with Ivan made Alfred appreciate what he'd had with Arthur. He obsessed over memories of quiet, lazy Saturdays spent playing computer games and reading, just relaxing together and joking around. He thought fondly of how they teased each other all the time, and shared inside jokes about teachers and classmates. He remembered all the little things Arthur was always doing for him, like helping him to study, and helping him keep up with his laundry. Arthur had taken care of him, and it was because of Arthur that Alfred hadn't been homesick at all. As easy as it was to talk to Matthew, and as much fun as he had hanging out with Ivan, there was just something special about his time with Arthur. Alfred was finally ready to admit that special something might just be love. Of course, now it felt like he was too late.

Arthur had still not answered, and Alfred imagined he was hanging out with Celio's band, or worse, just Celio by himself. Alfred let his head thump despairingly against Arthur's door, wishing he hadn't taken so long to wise up, but not quite sure what he could do to fix things. Matthew had patched things up with Francis over what Alfred felt was a much more serious offense, but there he was, standing in the hallway like a loser all because he'd run away from Arthur's confession—a confession he now wanted to return. It just didn't seem fair.

"I said I wouldn't wait for you, you know. I don't know why you're so insistent on hanging about all the time now. You couldn't get away fast enough before," Arthur said from behind, startling Alfred. The rugby player turned, nearly dropping the little rice ball, and carefully assessed Arthur's body as he always did these days (partially because he couldn't get enough of staring at the other boy, and partially because he was looking for Celio's marks on his skin). Today, Arthur was wearing a pair of jeans Alfred recognized, but they had some new tears intentionally added, as well as a patch sewn on. Alfred never thought the day would come when he'd _miss_ the sight of Arthur in a sweater vest and neatly pressed slacks, but the form-fitting band T-shirt the other boy wore (it must have been a new addition to his wardrobe) made Alfred a little sad.

Trying to hide his hurt at the other boy's harsh words, Alfred extended his peace offering. Arthur raised an eyebrow skeptically, not making any move to take it.

"I made you one. They're really pretty good. Kiku showed me how," Alfred said. Arthur turned his nose up at the rice ball and moved past Alfred, unlocking his door.

"So it's _Kiku_ now, is it? Poor Ivan will be devastated, I'm sure," Arthur said with biting sarcasm. Alfred flinched, but refused to give up. If he just held his tongue and took whatever Arthur could dish out, _eventually_ the other boy would run out of steam and forgive him. Alfred could only hope it wouldn't be too late by then.

"I don't have a crush on Kiku, or on Ivan," Alfred replied, trying to be mature. Arthur, however, just shot him a dark glare over his shoulder and slipped into his room. When he hit the lights, Alfred could see that the room had changed, too. Now there were posters on the wall of guys with crazy colored hair and grungy looking clothing.

"You got posters," Alfred said, hoping it would spark a conversation, or maybe Arthur would see his interest and invite him inside to talk about the bands he was so enamored with these days. Arthur just stood in his doorway, waiting for Alfred to dig his hole deeper. Starting to feel embarrassed, the American boy extended his pitiful looking little rice ball once more. Arthur sneered.

"I'm really not hungry. Look, if you didn't drop by for any real reason—"

"I got a text from my dad," Alfred blurted. Arthur looked a little annoyed, but he didn't close the door at least.

"Yeah?" he said grudgingly. Alfred nodded, his expression sinking into one of despair.

"He's coming to see me play the last rugby game of the season…said he wanted to talk about stuff," Alfred said. Arthur's prickly stance relaxed ever so slightly, indicating that he wasn't entirely past the point of being able to feel compassion for his old friend and crush.

"Shit luck," Arthur said, and Alfred blinked in surprise at the curse word. Sure, they cursed, but Arthur had never made a habit of doing it so casually before. For a surreal moment, Alfred stared at Arthur and felt like he was looking at a total stranger. The boy in front of him didn't dress like _his_ Arthur, he didn't talk like him or smile like he did—he was pissy on a good day and horrid on a bad one. This strange, new boy had disappointed his parents, the school had forced him into mandatory community service, and he spent all his time with slimy upperclassmen that were obviously only interested in him for one reason. He didn't study as much as he had before, and he went everywhere with earbuds jammed in his ears to block out his classmates. The words slipped out without Alfred really meaning for them to escape him.

"You've changed, Arthur," Alfred said quietly, the pain and regret evident in his voice. For a moment, Arthur's eyes softened into the fond, exasperated look Alfred knew so well, but then those eyes were gone, replaced once more by bitter green.

"Yeah, well, people change. You're different, too, these days," Arthur pointed out. Alfred scowled in confusion. He hadn't changed—certainly not like Arthur had. The other boy realized he didn't understand. "You look more and more like your rugby mates every day. All your T-shirts have gotten tight, but you still wear them anyway, and hanging out with Ivan so much has made you think you're the big man on campus."

Alfred realized with a blush that all of that was true. He _had_ been more confident lately, both about his body and in his attitude. He'd spent most of his time since school resumed either helping Ivan with his rehabilitation exercise, or messing around with the guys on the rugby team. Even though he still chatted pretty regularly with Matthew, he'd made less time for the soft-spoken boy. For once, Alfred felt accepted by his peers—not just tolerated, but truly one of the group. They really _were_ both changing, and it suddenly made Alfred feel like panicking.

He just wanted everything to be the same again. He wanted to go back in time and handle things differently. He just wanted Arthur back, so that his world wouldn't feel so off-kilter.

"Arthur…please…it can't be too late," Alfred said. He'd never felt so ridiculous, standing in the middle of the hallway on the verge of tears, clutching a crumbling rice ball, begging his old friend to stop growing away from him. Arthur took a shaky step back, and gently began to close the door.

"You…you need to leave now," Arthur said. He closed the door on Alfred, and on all his feelings of regret. For a split-second, Alfred wanted to chunk the rice ball at the door with all his might, but instead he swallowed thickly and stepped back, smoothing the napkin wrapped around the rice ball and setting it gently outside Arthur's door. He left quietly, with a defeated slump to his shoulders.

He'd only been gone from the hallway a few minutes before the door cracked open cautiously again, and Arthur peered out. Seeing that Alfred was gone, he sunk to his knees, biting his lip, and stared at the rice ball, allowing all the sadness and pain to finally show in his eyes. Why did his pride have to get in the way? Why couldn't he just let them be happy now that Alfred finally wanted him?

'_Because he's already broken my heart once. I can't trust him with it again,'_ Arthur thought. Sadly, Arthur picked up the little rice ball with gentle affection. He cupped it in his hands a few moments before he stood, closed his door more firmly this time, and took the food offering to the waste bin.

USUK

Arthur slung his bag down in the music room, sitting down at the electric keyboard while he waited for the rest of the band to show up. Technically, he hadn't joined them, but he liked to listen to them rehearse and sometimes his knowledge of musical theory helped them improve rough patches in their playing. While Arthur liked to drown in his hardcore punk, he still loved to listen to Celio sing his sad, longing songs, while the guitar trailed after him like a forlorn lover. He pulled out the sheet music covered in his own hand-written notes. Arthur had spent years playing, but he'd never attempted composing something entirely original before. He had created passages to play that would improve his fingering, and his technical ability, but he'd never created to express himself.

Celio had been helping him with the process, but it was slow going. Arthur played the first few bars, his mind wandering away. He would see Alfred again that afternoon after the band's rehearsal—he had to attend the Hero Club meeting.

The door opened and Antonio came in, looking a little surprised to see him there so early. The Spanish boy put his bag down and moved to the drums, checking them over before he beat out a quick little rhythm.

The two of them really didn't really interact much. Aside from being Gabriel's roommate, he didn't spend much time with the other boy outside of the band rehearsals. It was hard for Arthur to get a good read on Antonio. While he acted friendly enough with Gabriel and even Celio, he was always reserved with Arthur, and sometimes Arthur caught him staring at him rather intently for no discernable reason.

"I noticed Celio added another sticker to his guitar case," Antonio remarked. Arthur shot the other boy a weird look, saying without words that he didn't understand why such a remark was of any importance. Antonio gave him another one of those long, seemingly pointless looks before he shifted his focus back to the faces of his drums.

"Didn't you know? He puts a sticker on his case each time he fucks a virgin. You're the new sticker, yes?" Antonio said casually.

Arthur froze, all the color draining from his face. Antonio glanced at him carelessly.

"You seemed like a pretty smart guy, but I guess not as smart as all that. I thought…just maybe…you were different. You seemed to have some self-respect." Antonio shrugged carelessly, then, as if admitting he had been wrong. "You should get checked out at a clinic, considering how Celio gets around," he added offhandedly. Arthur swallowed thickly, his green eyes burning holes through the white keys under his fingers.

He'd known Celio didn't love him. They had messed around, and watched porn together. The casual touching had escalated into Arthur giving his first blowjob, and just a few nights previously, Celio had persuaded him into topping him, since he hadn't been entirely comfortable with the idea of bottoming. The experience hadn't been bad, per say, but it hadn't been great, either. Arthur hadn't felt any different afterwards, just a little hollow and dirty. He'd taken a shower, though about Alfred but realized he didn't have any tears left, and gone about his normal routine.

Now he was a fucking sticker, and despite his dad's embarrassing warnings, Arthur hadn't even thought about protection. Antonio was right—he was a fucking idiot.

Celio entered the room, casually talking to Gabriel. Arthur glanced up, his expression unreadable. There was the boy he had slept with for the first time, the boy whose cock had been in his mouth, the boy who had placed him on his guitar case like a trophy.

Arthur's eyes dropped to said case, which he'd never really paid much attention to before. It was colorful, though. Big stickers, little ones, some for radio stations and some for bands Arthur didn't recognize. All in all, there were about twenty stickers on the case—and the newest one up near the neck of the guitar—a shiny sticker for the band they'd seen in concert at the beginning of the month: The Hollows.

It was ironically appropriate, because it was just how looking at that stupid fucking sticker made him feel.

"Hey, angel, you're here early," Celio said. Nothing about him had changed. He was still charming and friendly, slipping out of any conflict or confrontation with the agility of a greased up eel. His handsome, tanned face was curious, his hazel eyes both mischievous and flirtatious. Arthur couldn't even claim that he'd been duped—he'd known from the beginning what Celio was. He'd claimed he wouldn't fall for his tricks, claimed to see right through him, but somehow he'd ended up used anyway. Celio masked just how ugly his intentions were by hiding them in plain sight.

Arthur stood, his eyes riveted to the guitar case. Perhaps sensing the danger, Antonio called out a warning.

"Man, watch your guitar!"

But it was too late. Arthur had bolted from his seat and grabbed the guitar case right out of Celio's hands. He ran with it, his sneakers pounding against the floor. Celio came tearing after him, but Arthur was too quick. He lost him in a tangle of hallways, just running, with no destination in mind.

Celio loved his guitar more than he loved himself, which was saying something. Arthur didn't have a concrete plan yet, but he was pretty sure he was going to torch it—possibly burning the school down with it. His eyes were so filled with imaginary flames that he didn't realize he'd run into someone until he was skidding against the floor, and the hard guitar case went clattering out of his arms.

"Hey! Watch where you're—Arthur?" Alfred asked in surprise. The British boy kept his head ducked down, unable to even look up. Of _course_ it was Alfred. It was always Alfred. Suddenly, the other boy was in front of him, a gentle hand under his chin. "You're crying," Alfred said, clearly worried.

"I need…to destroy this guitar," Arthur said. Alfred was obviously confused, and distressed because Arthur was upset. His baby blues trailed to the guitar case that wasn't Arthur's, and then back to the green-eyed boy.

"Why?" Alfred asked.

"Because it's Celio's…and now I'm on it."

"I'm still not following…" Alfred said. Alfred wiped away Arthur's tears with his thumbs, since Arthur didn't seem to care that they were there.

"He took my virginity, and so he put a sticker on his guitar case. I'm that one there on the neck."

Alfred was entirely silent for a long time. Unable to bear looking at him, Arthur's eyes fell to the floor again. Finally, Alfred spoke.

"We need to take it back to him. Come on, Arthur," Alfred said. Realizing how crazily he'd acted, Arthur closed his eyes tightly for a moment and then stood. Calmly, as if he hadn't heard Arthur's words at all, as if he didn't even bloody care, Alfred picked up the guitar case. Without a word, they began walking down the hall.

"I don't have anything worth giving anymore," Arthur said, coming to a slow stop in the hallway. Alfred stopped a few steps ahead of him, and Arthur finally noticed all the tension in the other boy's shoulders. Then, slowly, Alfred turned backwards and extended his hand. There was no other word for the emotion shining in his eyes. It was love, pure and simple.

Hesitant, jaded, and simply _tired_, Arthur put his hand in Alfred's, and they walked together.

They found Celio in the general vicinity of the music room. He relaxed visibly upon seeing his guitar, but stepped back nervously at the sight of Alfred. The rugby player released Arthur's hand, and shrugged out of his beloved jacket. He handed it to Arthur.

Then he extended the guitar case to Celio.

"This is yours, isn't it?" Alfred asked. Celio nodded, and hesitantly came forward to grab his precious guitar. His eyes darted nervously towards Arthur, who simply clutched Alfred's jacket.

"What Antonio told you…about the stickers…it doesn't really mean anything, Arthur," Celio tried to explain. Arthur flinched, hugging the jacket tighter. He didn't say anything.

"You might want to put your guitar down now," Alfred said calmly. Arthur glanced at Alfred, confusion evident on his face. Celio sat his guitar down, clearly unsure how to interpret the situation. It all became pretty clear, however, when Alfred's fist came hurtling towards his face.

Celio made a point to try and avoid fighting, but he'd had his fair share of scrapes. He was two years Alfred's senior, too, and not out of shape by any means. They exchanged blows, rolling about on the ground, while Arthur watched with huge green eyes. Alfred managed to get in several heavy blows to Celio's face, which seemed to be where he was trying to do the most damage. Alfred's glasses were knocked off in the fray, and Arthur grabbed for them automatically. Finally, his brain seemed to catch up with his eyes.

"Alfred! Stop!"

But Alfred wasn't stopping. He wrestled his way onto Celio's chest, his fist pummeling against the other boy's jaw once, twice, and a third time before Arthur caught him around the middle and pulled him off, using all his strength to do so.

Celio staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and busted lip. His face was already swelling up horrifically. Alfred's hair was in disarray, his shirt was ripped, and he'd cut the inside of his lips up against his braces.

Arthur stood bracingly in front of Alfred, half-holding him back, half-protecting him should Celio grow a backbone and try attacking him again. Alfred spat a mouthful of blood into the hallway.

"Don't _ever_ touch him again," Alfred said in a cold voice Arthur had never heard before. He glanced up in surprise, shocked by how different this tone was from anything Alfred normally spoke in. The carefree, sweet, bumbling American boy was gone. In his place stood a man, one who knew no fear and had no restraint. Every muscle was tensed, his fists were balled up tightly, and his eyes glittered with ferocity and the determination to protect the boy he loved.

"Stay the fuck away from me! He's all yours!" Celio spat back, grasping wildly for his guitar before retreating down the hall as fast as he could run. Alfred finally exhaled, and winced at the sharp pain the accompanied the motion.

"Alfred…" Arthur trailed off wondrously. With surprising suddenness, Alfred cupped a hand around Arthur's jaw and pulled their faces close together. Arthur thought he was about to be kissed, but instead Alfred stared deeply into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

"_Listen_. You've already given me the only thing that matters. I didn't take care of it like I should have, but I'm not going to let anyone, myself included, ever hurt your heart again. I _promise_, and gentlemen and heroes _always_ keep their promises."

"Oh…that's quite…Alfred…now…now would be a really good time to kiss me," Arthur said, a little breathless. Alfred grinned, his other hand moving to wrap around Arthur's waist. Instantly, like a cloud drifting away from the sun, Alfred—(sweet, wonderful, beautiful) Alfred was back, his blue eyes filled with pure joy.

"Really? I was thinking so, too. Are you sure you don't want to go to the library? We can go, if you want," Alfred joked. Arthur shook his head, stifling his own grin. Finally, unable to resist a second longer, he stretched onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Alfred's. He poured everything (more than he even realized he had) into the kiss that suddenly righted everything that had been wrong about the world.

The jacket slipped to the ground between them. Alfred backed Arthur up gently, until he felt the wall at his back. With the taller boy's glasses still dangling in his grip, he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and reveled in the feel of Alfred's hands, the smell of his body, the feel of his hair. Alfred's kiss healed him and made him feel invincible. They parted for air, blue eyes locked with green, the moment hanging between them like the silence after a beautiful explosion of fireworks.

"I should have done that a long time ago, huh?" Alfred asked, his smile nearly ear to ear. Arthur nodded, and then buried his face against Alfred's shoulder, hugging the other boy tightly.

"You're just slow on the uptake," he said. "Always," he added fondly. Alfred laughed, hugging him back.

"So was I heroic or what? I mean…that was pretty awesome, right?" Alfred said. Arthur laughed, his eyes shining with love when he turned them upwards to meet Alfred's gaze.

"I don't know…I think I upstaged you when I took on half the rugby stadium for you," Arthur replied. Alfred pouted.

"It was only like three guys!"

"Yeah…but they were just the only ones with a poster. Really, pretty much everyone was booing you."

"Now you're just being a meanie!" Alfred replied, sticking out his tongue. Arthur grinned, and kissed his cheek affectionately.

"You're my hero, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" Arthur said, leaning comfortably into Alfred's embrace. The American teen grinned, confidence restored.

"Yep!" he chirruped back. He bit his lips, suddenly looking a bit shy, before he kissed Arthur again. "I could…get used to this," he mumbled in between his sloppy little kisses. Arthur let his eyes drift shut in bliss. Sure, they were awkward at it, and he felt Alfred's braces against his lips, and the other boy tasted like the coppery tang of blood, but really, all that aside, kissing Alfred Jones felt a bit like jumping out of a plane and free falling, his heart hammering in his chest, his insides tangled up in knots, flying like a bird thousands of feet off the ground.

**A/N**: So, was it worth the wait? I hope it was. I planned to put more in this chapter, but I also wanted to end it right where it is, since I'm going out of town this weekend and I won't be updating, though I might post something Sunday night. I didn't want to leave you all on a cliffhanger. Thanks, as usual, for all the wonderful feedback and support!


	29. Hero Club Mission: Help Laura!

Chapter 29

Arthur didn't want to go to the Hero Club meeting. He wanted to drag Alfred back to their room and make-out all night, but Alfred was excited about it and it was now mandatory that Arthur attend. Since he'd kept his distance from Alfred for nearly a month, he felt a little out of the loop. As he inspected Alfred's chest for bruising, he struck up a conversation about the club.

"So what changes have you made?" he asked. Alfred beamed in excitement, his grin only faltering when Arthur probed at a suspicious yellowing spot on his ribcage.

"Well, Ms. Armstrong took over sponsoring the club—guess she told you that bit—and she's lined us up activities for the rest of the year already. This afternoon we're helping out the photography club."

"Oh?" Arthur asked, a little surprised. He'd half-expected to be shoveling snow off the drive, or serving soup in a homeless shelter.

"Yeah. I don't really know all the details, but they're putting a calendar together to sell as a fundraiser for a charity. I'm not sure why, but they were having trouble finding people willing to pose for the pictures," Alfred said. Arthur's impressive brows forked downwards in suspicion.

"So _we'll_ be the ones being photographed?" he asked, instantly disliking the idea. Alfred nodded carelessly.

"Well, probably not me. Can't imagine them selling many copies of _my _picture, but I'd definitely buy the calendar if it had _your_ picture in it," Alfred said, rather sweetly. Arthur grinned, kissing Alfred fondly. It helped that the other boy was already shirtless, as it was one less garment in between them. Arthur looped his arms around Alfred's shoulders, kissing him with sweet adoration. After a few moments of this, Alfred pulled back, though he still kept his arms wrapped firmly around Arthur's hips.

"So…are you my boyfriend now?" Alfred asked, as if just making sure. Arthur's cheeks turned a little pink, but he nodded.

"I rather assumed…"

"Yeah," Alfred replied, grinning a bit. "Awesome," Alfred decided. Arthur grinned against his lips.

"Mmm…awesome," he replied. After a moment, though, the British boy bit his lip hesitantly.

"What's on your mind?" Alfred asked. Arthur released his boyfriend, and shrugged his shoulders.

"I was just thinking, though, maybe we should keep it quiet at first. It's only been a few weeks since the videos leaked, and my parents might not appreciate me being all over the news again so soon," Arthur said. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, even if I'm kind of pissed at my parents right now, I don't want them to find out like that. So, just for now, we'll keep it a secret?" Alfred said. Arthur nodded, grateful that Alfred was also a child that had been raised in the harsh eye of the media and understood the need for some discretion. It wasn't fair, but it would be for the best in the end if they had time to tell their families in a more personal way.

"Agreed. It would look suspicious if you moved back in here," Arthur said reluctantly. Alfred looked a little dismayed.

"But I can move back eventually, right? Once we've told our parents?" Alfred said. Arthur nodded, entwining his hand with Alfred's larger one.

"Of course. You can always sneak over here once Ivan has gone to bed, too," Arthur suggested with a saucy grin. Alfred returned it, tempted to pull Arthur into his lap and resume kissing him senseless.

But, alas, duty called.

"We really gotta go now. We're probably gonna be late," Alfred said.

"You go on. We shouldn't arrive at the same time," Arthur reminded. With a nod, Alfred headed towards the door, pulling on an old T-shirt he'd left in Arthur's room as he did so. Arthur had kept his ripped one with the intention of mending it for him.

"Okay, see you in a bit. Do I get a goodbye kiss?" Alfred asked teasingly. Arthur shook his head, but crossed the few feet between them and stretched onto his toes to kiss the taller boy.

"Satisfied now?" he asked. Alfred grinned roguishly and kissed him again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping against Arthur's wetly.

"Not nearly. I'll _definitely_ be back tonight," Alfred said. Arthur swallowed thickly, feeling rather warm in response to such a husky declaration. He all but pushed Alfred out the door.

"Go already!" he said. Glancing back at him until the last possible second, Alfred finally left him alone. That was when it finally sank in.

He had a boyfriend. Alfred Jones was his boyfriend. They had kissed, multiple times, and talked about telling their parents, and made plans for Alfred to move back in. Arthur flopped onto his bed, a dreamy smile on his face. He rolled into his pillow, grinning like a fool.

USUK

Elizabeta watched the boys filter into the gym, her critical eye surveying them one by one. A rather expensive looking digital camera hung around her neck. A few other photographers from the club were in attendance, including Antonio (who looked a little reluctant to be there) as well as a girl with a dark blonde bob and a friendly smile. She was a junior named Laura, and she came from Belgium. This year, she was the president of the photography club, and close friends with Antonio. Elizabeta was the only freshman that had been asked to come today, and she was nervous about doing a good job. She didn't know what sort of project they'd be doing, but for whatever reason, she knew it had been hard for Laura to find volunteer models.

The Hero Club, Elizabeta was happily surprised to note, had certainly grown from its original six members. She quickly said hello to Francis and Matthew, and to Yao as well when he finally arrived with Ivan. She was a little surprised to see Roderich's friend, a tall, good looking German boy, in attendance, too. He was standing in a small group with his friends, Feliciano and a Japanese boy named Kiku, as well as a hot-tempered boy Elizabeta recognized as Feliciano's older brother—a trouble maker named Lovino. He didn't seem to be happy about attending the meeting, and Elizabeta wondered why he had even come with such a bad attitude.

Speaking of bad attitudes, Gilbert was in attendance as well. Elizabeta barely refrained from scowling at him. It had been very hard for her to find her place at World Academy, struggling with her own identity issues and with culture shock, and Gilbert had certainly not made it easy on her. He was always teasing her—pointing out the fact that she had tiny breasts and that she was homely. After the Hero Club had helped her change her style, Gilbert hadn't bothered her nearly as much. In fact, he seemed to get a bit tongue tied around her now. He was sulking on the bleachers by himself, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

Patricia, or Fatty-Patty as she was more commonly known, had come too. She was keeping company with a girl named Meghan, who Elizabeta knew only very casually. She had heard Meghan was obsessed with Prince Arthur, and had even tried to start a legitimate school club with no purpose other than to drool over him. Elizabeta wasn't exactly sure _why_. He wasn't a very likeable boy, and lately he'd been downright rude. She'd thought the video that had leaked to the internet was rather amusing, and it served the prickly boy right for making such poor choices.

But all of her observations were neither here nor there. She approached Antonio and Laura, fiddling with her camera in her hands.

"So, we've got a nice assortment of countries represented, though there are some doubles. The stoner kid and that tall blond boy are both from Germany, and the brothers are obviously both from Italy."

"Arthur is coming, too—it's mandatory—so you'll have him. Because of what happened earlier, I doubt Celio and Gabriel will show up, though."

"No matter. We're going to have plenty," Laura replied. Elizabeta cleared her throat delicately.

"Just what exactly are we doing today?" she asked.

"Well, once this Alfred kid shows up, I was going to fill everyone in at the same time," Laura said. With perfect timing, the gym doors opened and the president of the club finally arrived.

"Hey everybody! Sorry I'm late!" he said energetically. He got only a luke warm response, but he didn't seem phased by it. The school counselor arrived right on his heels and surveyed the group.

"Where's Arthur?" she asked. Alfred coughed nervously.

"He's coming. I mean, not that I _know_ or anything, but he knows he has to be here," Alfred said. Beside Elizabeta, Antonio snorted in dry amusement.

"Whatever," Antonio whispered to Laura, "They _totally_ hooked up," he said. Laura grinned.

"Well, if what you told me is true, more power to them. Celio is an ass. Quite a few of my friends are on that guitar case of his. I'm sorry Prince Arthur didn't manage to chunk it off the roof. Plus, it'll make their shoot even better," she said. Antonio just shrugged, as if he didn't care either way. He began rummaging around in his camera bag. Laura, however, seemed to be carefully studying Alfred. She was smiling in a strange way.

"I've heard Jones was a loser, but he doesn't look half-bad to me. With some make-up, and some photo-shop work, I think he'll do quite nicely for what I've got planned," she said.

"Even if they _are_ together, Arthur is probably going to pitch a fit when you tell him about the shoot," Antonio warned. Laura flashed a grin at both Antonio and Elizabeta.

"Yeah, but we have both the son of the American president and a British prince. I wouldn't be a very good photographer if I didn't take advantage of that," she said.

Meanwhile, the prince in question had finally arrived, looking a little out of breath. The counselor shot him a reproachful look, but nodded in a satisfied way that everyone who was required to be there had showed up.

"Alright. I'll hand this over to Alfred and Laura now, but for those of you who are here on special request—you know who you are—any attempts made to ditch out early _will_ be reported to me. You kids have fun, and take good pictures! This is for a great cause," she said, before waving goodbye and surrendering the floor to Alfred and Laura. The two club presidents shook hands, and briefly introduced themselves.

"So, I'm really getting curious! What's all this about?" Alfred asked. Laura shot a grin at her photographers, and the Hero Club members, who all looked equally intrigued.

"The theme of the calendar is historical alliances. You'll each be representing countries—likely your own—and the calendar will include information about how different countries are connected. We're selling the calendars to raise money for a global charity that does peacekeeping missions and provides humanitarian aid in times of crisis. They're a great organization, and I thought this theme would tie in with their mission statement and make for some sexy pictures, too. That being said, the reason I've had trouble recruiting models is that some of the costumes are…well…a bit risqué, to say the least. While I won't ask for anything _too_ scandalous, I want these babies to sell. Everybody understand?" she asked. There was a long silence, and then Elizabeta broke it by giggling.

No wonder none of the teenage boys at World Academy hadn't wanted to volunteer—if she understood Laura correctly, the older girl was imagining a calendar filled with boys posing provocatively with other boys, in very little clothing.

"What the FUCK?" Lovino growled loudly, already crossing his arms. "I knew this club was fucking queer, but I'm not doing this!" Lovino growled. Antonio didn't seem overly thrilled about the premise of the calendar either, but Lovino's reaction seemed to amuse him.

Surprisingly, the reaction from the other boys wasn't all that bad. Laura smiled, happy that she and the counselor had finally found such a perfect solution to the small-minded opposition there had been from the primarily straight student populace against her creative vision.

She clapped her hands, and Alfred smiled out over the club members, both old and new.

"Alright, the Hero Club is down for anything, right guys? We'll definitely help you guys out for such a good cause!" Alfred said.

"Good to hear. I've got the sets already assembled in the school's theater. I got some help from the theater club. Do you think you two," she pointed to Meghan and Patty, "could help with costuming and make-up?" The two girls shared giggles and nodded. Laura continued to efficiently mobilize everyone by calling out people by country of origin.

"Okay, first up, I need two people to represent the re-unification of Germany. We've got two Germans, here, right?" she said. Looking startled when Feliciano pushed him forward, Ludwig bashfully approached to accept his packet. Gilbert eyed up his photo partner with disdain, and snatched at his own information packet moodily.

"Fantastic. Next, I need China and Russia for the Sino-Russians relations shoot. Here you go," she said, passing out the packets to the two boys who stepped forward. Laura admired the contrast in their coloring, and thought they'd make a rather spectacular photo together. Elizabeta just couldn't stop giggling into her hand. Roderich was going to regret not tagging along to see _this_…or maybe not, as he might have been sucked into the fun as well.

"What about me?" Alfred asked energetically, blue eyes shining. Laura flashed him an affectionate smile.

"Oh, just you wait. I've got big plans for you. Next up, I need someone Japanese…I'm guessing that's you," Laura said, smiling fondly at Kiku, who blushed as he came forward to grab the packet. He peered curiously at the pairing.

"Japan…and Greece?" he asked. Laura winked. I was able to find a _few_ volunteers in the theater club, including a super cute boy named Heracles. They're busy setting up lights right now, though." Kiku shot a somewhat disappointed look in Alfred's direction, but he masked it well and returned to his friends.

"Antonio, you'll be posing with one of the Italian boys," she informed. Her friend gaped at her.

"I'm a _photographer_! I'm not modeling!"

"Antonio, it's for a good cause," she pleaded. Antonio glared, but his eyes shifted tellingly towards Lovino. Grinning sweetly, Laura shoved his info packet into Antonio's hands and then marched across the gym to give on to the dark-haired Italian sophomore.

"Since he's doing the shoot with Antonio, we'll have you do the other shoot with Ludwig. You seem to be close anyway, which is good. It's a summer shoot," she said, as if that explained why their closeness was a good thing. Ludwig looked nervous, but Feliciano happily took the papers and began reading about the historical alliances between their two countries. He smiled happily up at Ludwig.

"Who would have thought? Our countries like each other! That's so nice!" Feliciano remarked happily. Ludwig sighed, massaging his temples.

"Kiku, you owe us for this one," he said sternly. His Japanese friend blushed, too embarrassed to reply. He'd dragged his friends along with them to Alfred's club, after all, too embarrassed to show up alone.

More names were called, more alliances distributed, and soon they were all making their way to the theater. Alfred fell in step beside Arthur, grinning at him mischievously.

"You're being obvious," Arthur whispered, but his own cheeks were a little red.

"But Artie…according to this, we have a _special relationship_," Alfred said.

"Oh, belt up. You're also posing with Matthew. You'd do well to watch yourself," Arthur warned, his voice low. Alfred grinned.

"Mkay…but I can touch you however I please, right?" he asked. They had fallen behind the rest of the group, and none of the others seemed to be paying them any mind. Arthur hastily stole a kiss.

"Always," Arthur replied huskily before quickening his step to catch up to Francis. Alfred appreciated the opportunity to watch Arthur's arse as he sauntered away, and then glanced once more (a silly grin on his face) at the information about the alliance he and Arthur would be representing.

USUK

Elizabeta blushed hotly as the two boys emerged from the back. Their setting had been assembled by a sleepy looking Grecian boy—a backdrop that was half Russian palace, half Chinese opulence. Fake snow glittered over many of the props, which explained why Ivan was dressed in dark, tight-fitting black, woolen trousers, tucked into sturdy military boots. He wore a white linen shirt that buttoned up the side of his chest, but these buttons were left undone, revealing the sturdy musculature underneath. A fur hat was cocked jauntily off the side of his head, revealing most of his snowy, platinum blonde hair underneath. Yao was cross-dressing in a bright red, Chinese dress slit up to his slender hip. Perhaps disturbingly, Yao didn't seem uncomfortable in his costume at all.

Needless to say, it was obvious the two were already in an "alliance" of sorts, because the sight of Yao in the dress made Ivan flush with color and provoked a greedy, possessive look in his pale eyes. There were numerous places for the boys to pose, but Ivan went straight for the throne-like chair in the middle, propping one large boot up on a nearby footstool and grinning wickedly at Yao. He patted his lap.

Elizabeta let out a little meep of surprise and began to rapidly click. She caught everything from the way Yao hovered on the edge of the scene, his spectacular dress draping dramatically off his frame, his eyes locked intimately with Ivan's. The frames advanced as Yao took Ivan's outstretched hand, almost reluctantly but _hungrily_ at the same time, tucking his long hair behind the curve of his ear. Twenty pictures later and Yao straddled Ivan's lap, glancing back questioningly at the camera, Ivan's lips pressed to his throat and his pale eyes screaming possession.

'_I love Roderich…don't get me wrong…but damn! Can I buy this calendar yet?'_ Elizabeta thought to herself, the blush on her cheeks darkening. At first, she hadn't understood why Laura seemed so confident that her concept would work, but _now_…well, suffice it to say Elizabeta was pretty damn glad she'd chosen to join the photography club since it had given her the opportunity, and she thought she just might drag Roderich to the next Hero Club meeting, too. Was that weird? Wanting to ogle gay boys? She clicked a few more pictures as her models obligingly changed poses, without any prompting from her. Now Yao sat in the chair, legs crossed elegantly, his chin resting on one hand. His look was proud and confident, as if he _knew _he looked damn good in his dress. Ivan draped over the back of the throne, tangling his hand in Yao's silky hair and smiling rather sinisterly at the camera. Elizabeta snapped away, wondering if the bigger boy knew how creepy he looked when he did that, or if that was just his natural smile.

Either way, she was both relieved and remorseful to see Ivan grab Yao rather abruptly around the wrist and drag him off the stage, seemingly uncaring if she'd gotten her picture or not. Nearby, Heracles (the boy who did all the lights and rigging for the theater club) yawned sleepily.

"I'm not a photographer, but that looked like it went well. I probably won't do as good," he said, though his tone was apathetic. Elizabeta shook her head, trying to get rid of the provocative images.

"It's going to be _really_ hard for anyone to top that," she said.

"Well, guess I'll start putting up the next set. It's for that loud-mouthed Italian kid and your photographer friend," he commented. Elizabeta winced. How'd she get stuck with _those_ two? Antonio was Laura's friend—why didn't Laura want to photograph him?

Regardless, she tried to focus. Clearly, the Hero Club boys were a little headstrong. She was going to have to get over her embarrassment and be more forceful with the ones that wouldn't be such naturals.

USUK

On the smaller stage that the school used for practices and music club concerts, Laura waited with her camera on the ready.

"Come on now, boys, no need to be shy now!"

"I beg to differ! Now is a rather excellent time to be shy!" A moody voice with a British accent shot back from the depths of the curtains.

"Are you sure this is my whole costume?" Alfred asked, also still hidden in the wings. Laura smirked.

"Come on, already! We've got a lot of photographs to get today! I need my February couple!"

"We aren't a couple!" Arthur retorted, though Laura (having heard about the day's earlier events from Antonio) slightly doubted it.

"Whatever you say. Either come out now, or I'll have to drag you out," she replied cheerily. Finally, the shy boys came onto the stage. Their setting was simple—just two flags (one British and one American) on either side of a red velvet chaise lounge. The flags draped over the ends of the piece of furniture. English roses were strewn about, and a few big, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates completed the setting.

Arthur was "dressed" in a pair of tiny briefs that mirrored the colors of his nation's flag. Alfred's costume was identical, with the exception of an American flag flying proudly over his toned butt. He cupped his hands embarrassedly over his junk.

The two boys caught sight of each other and almost instantly cracked up laughing.

"Ha ha ha! They plucked your eyebrows! You look like a call boy!" Alfred guffawed. Arthur snorted in mirth at the way Alfred was trying in vain to cover himself.

"At least I just look like a twink—not some burly stripper," Arthur retorted.

"You call me a stripper and I'm gonna dance—you've seen me dance, Arthur," Alfred warned. Quite forgetting that they had an audience, Alfred began to do some horrible cross between the chicken dance and the Y.M.C.A. He was moving steadily towards Arthur, who tried to avoid him by ducking behind the chaise.

"Oh, for God's sake, stop!" Arthur pleaded, laughing, but his best friend had switched into one of his crazy, silly hyperactive moods and was now providing his own music, doing a terrible impression of a stripper. Arthur protested when Alfred grabbed his wrist, pulling at his hand desperately, still laughing, but Alfred dragged him around the chaise and sat him down.

"I don't have any cash for you, you man-whore. In these tiny little things where in the bloody hell would I keep it?" Arthur joked. Alfred laughed, wiggling his tush on Arthur's lap. He was singing an M.C. Hammer song now.

"Your terrible dancing is only surpassed by your awful taste in music," Arthur insulted, though he was still laughing with his arms full of the taller, broader boy.

"I'm dancing for a good cause, Arthur. The masses want to see my sexy dance!"

"They most certainly do _not_! Get off me already! You're bloody heavy, you porker! You've gained at least two stone by the feel of it," Arthur complained. Now pouting, Alfred shifted off Arthur onto the lounge, one leg still draped over the other boy's lap.

"I'm not fat!" Alfred replied, glancing down at his washboard stomach. Arthur grinned at him, leaning over to pinch at the skin on his tummy. Still smiling contentedly, he kissed the tip of Alfred's nose.

"You're right, love. You're quite sexy…just never dance ever again. Please. I'd have to blind myself," Arthur joked. "And you owe me for the cost of my future therapy," he added.

Alfred leaned forward, capturing his new boyfriend's lips in a searing kiss.

"You look hot in your British panties," Alfred said, when they parted for air. Arthur blushed, and lightly smacked Alfred's arm.

"We're _supposed_ to be keeping a low profile. We're going to have to tell our families soon, because you're horrid at it," Arthur reprimanded lightly.

"Oops! I kinda forgot we were taking pictures!" he glanced shyly out towards Laura, who stood silently in the shadows, simply snapping shots as they interacted.

"Oh, don't mind me. Alfred, your mother is Helen Sheriddan, isn't she?"

"Not anymore. She's Helen Jones now," Alfred replied.

"But that's the name she went by when she was a model. I can tell you're her son. You move your body well in front of a camera."

Alfred blushed at the praise, and Arthur smiled at his expression.

"Now you've done it. He's going to walk around in his skivvies all the time now, thinking he's good looking or something," Arthur joked. Alfred grinned at his teasing and stole another quick kiss, surprising Arthur and sending him toppling backwards on the lounge. Alfred winked at Laura.

"I'll give you some great shots, okay?" he said, a new, confident tone to his voice that Arthur had never heard before. Maybe Laura was right—Alfred seemed to drop all his insecurities and inhibitions in front of the camera lens. Or maybe it was just the way Alfred's body had changed over the course of the year that brought out the other boy's confidence in this one, perfect moment.

Arthur blushed hotly as the taller boy pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his throat. He let his head roll back slightly, still blushing, a little surprised at his own lack of restraint. At the same time, however, Arthur had never been quite so enamored of Alfred Jones as he was just then, on the day of their new anniversary, the first in what would hopefully be a long string of them. He wanted a picture to prove that, at that moment in time, they were young and happy and invincibly in love. He hooked his leg around Alfred's hips, drawing the other boy in closer, arching up into his kiss and tangling his fingers in Alfred's shaggy blond hair.

Let the whole world see the photos. It would let everyone know that he belonged to Alfred Jones, and that Alfred Jones belonged to him, and what they had together truly was something incredibly special.

USUK

Despite being a creative and talented photographer, Antonio was a pretty crappy model. He was dressed as a bull fighter; Lovino was dressed like a bull. It was cheesy, and a little ridiculous looking, but it made Elizabeta smile and she figured the people who purchased the calendar would probably get a kick out of it, too. After all, the expressions the boys wore were pretty priceless. Antonio looked nervous and amused at the same time—Lovino looked like he was seconds away from _actually_ goring the other boy to death.

"The notes say that while Spain ruled Southern Italy for nearly three centuries, Southern Italy is a powerful force on its own, with a unique culture and a strong presence in both spirit and body, traits symbolized by the bull. Plus, the tradition of bull fighting in Spain is largely misunderstood, as bull fighters show great respect for the bulls they try to subdue—"

"I'm dressed like a fucking animal, damn it! This is completely degrading—I don't care what the fucking notes say!" Lovino shouted, stomping his foot in agitation. Grinning, Antonio gave his red cape a few twirls around Lovino's face. Lovino nearly ripped the cape out of Antonio's hands. "Get your cape out of my fucking face before I strangle you in it!"

Antonio just laughed, clearly finding how easily Lovino could be riled highly amusing. Elizabeta hastily snapped a few shots, of Antonio chuckling and Lovino scowling, but she didn't think it was exactly what Laura had in mind.

"These photos aren't any good. Can't you two…I dunno…kiss or something?" she prompted. Lovino whirled back around to face her, his attention instantly focused on her as if _she _were the one waving the cape now.

"No! I won't fucking—"

Lovino's words were cut off by Antonio, who had leaned over the shorter boy, grabbed him by one of his horns, and (smiling) kissed his cheek. Lovino wore an adorable expression of wide-eyed surprise, his mouth forming a perfect little 'o'. Elizabeta nearly melted in relief that she had gotten the shot, because just a half-second later, Lovino had wrestled Antonio to the ground and was punching him rather ineffectually, considering the padded bull "hooves" he still wore on his fists. It rather looked like he was stomping the laughing boy, while teaching Antonio the lesson that it was neither prudent nor wise to grab a bull by the horns.

"Oh good grief," Elizabeta muttered, as Lovino stomped off the stage, his little tail swinging behind him, and Antonio (still chuckling) dragged himself up into a sitting position.

"Man, it's so much fun to rile that kid up!" he commented. "I suppose you didn't get any good pictures, though," he added, at least understanding her plight.

"Well, not sexy ones, per say, but one is kind of cute, and the ones of him stomping you are at least a little funny…" she trailed off uncertainly, flipping through the pictures. While Heracles changed the set once more, Antonio came to check them out. At first he laughed at how awkward he looked on stage, and he laughed all over again upon seeing the pictures of Lovino attack him.

"Send me copies of those, would you?" Antonio requested. He gave her shoulder a friendly pat, "And those are pretty good, considering your models. Nice work, Liz," he said. She smiled a little proudly and thanked him…all the while wondering why the other boy wanted copies of the pictures.

USUK

Antonio reported to his own set after his first shoot of the day, a little curious to see how Arthur would treat him. He'd be photographing the British boy and Kiku, the kid from Japan. He glanced over the notes, about how the two nations had formed an alliance back when Japan wasn't exactly friendly with foreigners. The two boys fit these roles nicely. Arthur emerged on stage under the fake cherry blossom trees in a rather dignified looking suit. Kiku appeared in a subdued, yet very formal yukata.

Arthur gave his fellow student council member a friendly smile. Having just come from his shoot with Alfred, he was in euphorically good mood. Kiku watched him reservedly, some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. There was nothing sexy about the scene at all, as both models stood nearly on opposite ends of the set. While Arthur looked friendly and hopeful, Kiku's expression was reserved, bordering on mistrust. Antonio thought it made for a rather poignant shot, considering the historical perspective they were aiming for. Rather helpfully, a theater stage hand let some fake blossoms drift down over the scene. Arthur crossed the stage, extending his hand to Kiku invitingly.

Still, Kiku hesitated.

"It might make a good shot, considering this is supposed to be an alliance," Arthur said. Kiku took small steps forward, eyeing the flowers drifting down on them. He stiffly extended his hand. Finally picking up on the vibe, Arthur winced a bit.

"Err…Kiku…I hadn't done anything to offend you, have I?" he asked, his hand still pressed against Kiku's. The other boy frowned lightly.

"I was just wondering…wondering why Alfred thinks so highly of you," Kiku said. Arthur released his hand, perhaps a little surprised by the mention of Alfred, and frowned slightly.

"Well, we were best friends before…"

"I see. It is an admiration that comes from friendship, then."

"I _suppose_ so," Arthur replied, a bit confusedly. He glanced out towards Antonio, clearly needing some direction on the shoot. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that a blossom had landed on Kiku's shoulder. Gently, he lifted it off. Kiku grabbed his hand, guiding it to the space between them, cupping Arthur's hand and the blossom between his own.

"The _sakura_ blossom has very significant meaning in my culture. It represents the transience of things. Though a flower, or a relationship, might be very beautiful—_special_ even—all things end in time. You should keep this one and remember that. Nothing lasts forever."

"Err…Kiku, I'm not entirely sure what you—"

"Alright, I got the shot. You can get changed back into your normal clothes," Antonio called out. Moving quickly considering the elaborateness of his costume, Kiku was gone in a second, leaving Arthur to stand amongst the fallen flowers with the lone bloom cradled in his hand.

**A/N: ** I'm sorry if you wanted to see Francis and Matthew's shoot, but I couldn't include them all and so a couple pairings that I really wanted to represent got cut. You'll just have to use your imaginations! It was either Spamano or Greece and Japan to get cut, and since Kiku's not really into Greece right now, not much would have happened in their shoot. But they have met now, so that's something, right? Just in case you missed the reference, Laura is Belgium. I gave her a name of the list of possible ones that the creator of Hetalia was considering for her. I think more people call her Emma, but Emma was too close to Emily, so I went with Laura.

Oh, and you can expect more updates this weekend. My travel plans were cancelled because of icy roads. It's snowing in Texas. Everything typically shuts down when that happens and we all go outside to frolic in the two inches of snow wearing our flip flops and grinning like morons…myself included. -_-;

Lastly, I'm sooo glad most of you seemed happy with the first kiss. It was such an important moment that I wanted to do it justice. I hope this chapter is equally pleasing! You guys deserve some fluff after all the angst I've put you through! By the way, it's writing scenes like this that make me wish I didn't suck at drawing. I want this calendar So. Freaking. Bad.


	30. The First Date

Chapter 30

Arthur got ready for bed almost forgetting Alfred's promise to visit him. The photo shoot had been exhausting (both ridiculously fun when he was with Alfred, and strangely upsetting during his shoot with Kiku) and Arthur was quite glad to be taking a hot shower and concluding the day. He'd forgotten to turn the heater on in his room and so it was practically freezing—January pressed harshly against the big windows and leaked into the nooks and crannies of the spacious room. His skin chilled instantly upon stepping out of the shower, and instead of wrapping the towel around his waist, Arthur clutched it around his shoulders, already shivering. He padded out into the bedroom, no longer in the habit of bringing his clothing with him since he had lived alone for a month, and was unpleasantly surprised by the arms that wrapped around him from behind. He jumped in surprise, but Alfred's laughter set him at ease.

"Did I scare you?" Alfred asked.

"Bloody hell, of course you did! How did you even get in here?" Arthur asked. Alfred looked a little surprised.

"You left the door unlocked. I assumed you wanted me to come in," Alfred said. In truth, Arthur had just been careless.

"Oh…right," he said. His teeth were clattering, and Alfred frowned, turning Arthur in his arms and rubbing his towel-clad shoulders briskly to warm him up.

"You're shivering. How come the heater isn't on?" Alfred asked. Arthur frowned. That was a very good question. He'd turned it on before he hopped in the shower, so the room shouldn't have still felt like the arctic tundra.

"It must be out—I'm sure I turned it on," Arthur said. Alfred grinned.

"I guess I'll just have to keep you warm tonight…and you know what they say about that," Alfred said. Arthur frowned a bit in confusion. Alfred enlightened him. "Sharing body heat works best without clothes."

Arthur blushed, but he had no qualms with the idea. Out of the two of them, Alfred had always been the insecure one. Arthur knew his body wasn't perfect—some might even call him feminine—but he liked how he looked and he liked the way Arthur devoured his body with his eyes.

Besides, his towel now felt cold and damp. Surprising Alfred by his willingness, he dropped the towel off his shoulders and wrapped his arms around the taller boy instead, stealing the warmth off the soft pajamas he wore under his coat. Finding Arthur's lips, Alfred shrugged out of his jacket and began to unbutton his pajama top. It seemed silly to be bashful now—after all, they'd seen each other naked plenty of times before, and on one particularly memorable occasion had jerked off against each other's bellies.

Alfred's skin reacted to the cold temperature, and he began to shiver, too.

"Geez! Let's get under the covers already!" Alfred said, breaking the heated kiss in order to whine and rub at his arms. Arthur chuckled, slipping past him and dashing to the bed. He hopped on, quickly arranged the covers over himself, and snuggled down into the very center. His green eyes glittered mischievously over the top edge of the comforter.

"Oh, think you aren't going to share, do you?" Alfred said, hopping onto the bed and pressing his cold nose relentlessly against Arthur's cheeks and neck. Alfred's fingers began to tease Arthur's sides, tickling as best he could manage with the thick layers of blankets impeding him.

"I'll share…but first surrender your trousers, and pants, if you please," Arthur said, his voice muffled. Alfred laughed with boyish enthusiasm and ditched the pants and his boxers fairly quickly. Pathetic and shivering, Alfred begged entrance with impossibly blue puppy dog eyes. Faking reluctance, Arthur released his death grip on the covers and let Alfred climb in beside him.

"It's not true what they say—I'm still freezing my balls off," Arthur said, tucking himself up against Alfred's side.

"You gotta give it a minute. Or we could make-out. That'd probably warm us up really fast," Alfred suggested, biting his lip. Arthur grinned up at him in the darkness, and pressed a kiss blindly against the taller boy's chin. "You missed," Alfred replied, before scooting down further in the bed and slanting his mouth over Arthur's. Almost instantly, the American rolled on top of Arthur, his kisses forceful and hungry. He wasn't particularly skilled, but he made up for it with enthusiasm.

Besides, who wanted soft, hesitant kisses? Certainly not Arthur. He used a slender foot for leverage and switched their positions, deepening the kiss and exposing his shoulder blades to the icy air.

Alfred was getting excited against his thigh, his hips beginning to arch in little rolling motions. Arthur grunted in pleasure as Alfred's hands found his backside, probably by accident, but it was a sensitive area for him—especially his tailbone. Alfred's thumb brushed teasingly over the base of his spine once, twice, and then again, light as a feather, and Arthur growled. His own hand twined backwards to catch Alfred's and guide it to the little dip right above his arse.

"Harder," he begged, panting against Alfred's throat. Alfred's callused fingers obliged him, pressing and kneading roughly at the spot, occasionally spanning down to cup his arse and squeeze. Arthur was hard impossibly fast. He took his cock in hand and pumped it a few times, before a rather genius idea occurred to him and he slipped it between Alfred's slightly parted thighs, slick with sweat. The move trapped Alfred's erection between their stomachs, and Arthur rolled his hips so as to tease the other boy's leaking manhood with the clenched muscles of his abdomen. The sensation brought him nearly to completion, but it wasn't as satisfying to the boy beneath him.

"_Fuck_!" Alfred whispered, before rolling them once more. The room didn't feel cold anymore. Now Arthur wanted the covers off. He certainly didn't want to be trapped underneath all of Alfred's heat. Plus, the shift in position had caused him to lose the rhythm he'd been working on between Alfred's thighs. Alfred offered a hasty explanation—"I can't get there like that," he said, grinding his hips forcefully down to make his point. He was thrusting hard against the hollow groove of Arthur's hip, which seemed to be Alfred's new favorite spot on Arthur's body.

"You're too heavy," Arthur complained. He couldn't get his own hand around his cock for fear of it being crushed if he moved it from its trapped position between their bodies. "At least prop up on your arm or something!" Arthur hissed. Alfred apologized by way of a sloppy, wet kiss, as he shifted his weight onto his elbow and sucked hard on Arthur's tongue.

"Mmm—ghng!" Arthur half moaned, half grunted. The sounds of their kiss filled his ears and the rhythmic slapping noises of Alfred's hips against his body seemed to echo loudly. Alfred came after a few frenzied thrusts, soiling the sheets and managing to dirty Arthur at the same time. Arthur caught Alfred's hand and dragged it downwards, till it wrapped obligingly around his needy erection. Still panting against the side of Arthur's face, Alfred squeezed and stroked him, alternating between long tugs and short little forceful ones. It was how he jerked himself off, and Arthur seemed to appreciate the unpredictable, though slightly rough, pattern.

"Alfred…Alfred…" Arthur chanted, fisting his fingers in the sheets and arching upwards onto his curled toes as he came hard in Alfred's hand. Arthur collapsed against the sheets with a forceful exhale, his sweat instantly cooling on his rapidly chilling skin.

"Mmm, Artie…you're _so _sexy, baby," Alfred whispered gruffly against his ear. Arthur's cheeks tinged pink at the American term of endearment. The way Alfred said it was so deep and husky that it didn't make him feel nearly as ridiculous as it should have. He nuzzled his face against the other boy's chest, still hairless and soft as velvet.

"I need…to shower again," he said, with a huff of amusement. Alfred pressed a kiss to his sweaty hair. His fingers trailed downwards along Arthur's sternum, to the concave of his tummy, into the mess of their sex. Grinning wickedly, Alfred smeared the sticky substance like a kid playing with fingerpaint. He nibbled lightly on Arthur's ear, sucked hard on his jaw, laved his tongue over Arthur's throat like a puppy giving a kiss, and then disappeared under the blankets.

Arthur tangled his fingers in Alfred's hair and felt the other boy's course through his hands as Alfred navigated across his skin—over the valley of Arthur's collarbone, to the pebbled little rise of Arthur's nipple (and, oh, how amazing it felt for that hot tongue to lap over the cold metal of his piercing), down, down, down for ages, to the cavern of his belly button and the short, wayward little hairs of his happy trail.

Arthur moaned as Alfred's tongue (warm, sloppy, endearingly energetic) went about the task of sucking from his skin the last vestiges of soap, sweat and spunk.

It had been _so_ hot, and more intimate than anything Arthur had ever experienced before. The realization that they hadn't even had sex yet left him feeling a little dumbstruck. His boy finally resurfaced, like a diver returning with the glee of sunken treasure dancing in his eyes.

"There's not much I can do about the sheets," Alfred said. Arthur grinned lazily.

"We've got a back up bed. Now won't that come in handy? How very thoughtful of the school," Arthur mused. Startling Arthur by his energy, Alfred pushed onto his hands and sat over Arthur's thighs, exposing Arthur's body to the air, appreciating the way his wet skin glistened. For a long, few moments, Alfred seemed content to stare at Arthur's body, idly tracing patterns on his skin with his fingertips.

"I probably should have told you this before, but I really love you, Arthur. You know that, right?" Alfred asked, hunching over Arthur like a sculpture, all toned, lean muscle and silky, smooth marble skin. Arthur reached up, barely able to muster the strength, and touched Alfred's lips, where such beautiful words had originated.

"You love me, huh?" he asked softly.

"More than anything," Alfred replied fiercely. He caught Arthur's hand and held it against the side of his own face, nuzzling against it like a pet seeking an affectionate pat. Arthur closed his eyes a moment in bliss, pure, absolute bliss. He felt precious and incredibly safe, there with Alfred inside their double-bed world, the borders of their kingdom stretching to the ends of the mattress, the geography of their land a tangle of sheets and blankets.

He wanted to rule there as Alfred's prince forever, and he wanted Alfred, always, as his ever-faithful knight.

USUK

Alfred and Arthur decided it was going to be impossible to hide their reunion from their closest friends. The morning after their little sleepover, they decided they would tell _only_ their close friends, and worry about the rest of the world after their parents knew. Alfred's father was arriving in just three, short weeks, and if Arthur had thought they'd spend all their time as a new couple frotting away their time between classes, he was sadly disappointed.

Because Alfred was training for the last match of the rugby season like a madman, with anyone and everyone who would toss a ball for him.

"I really don't think this is a good idea…" Matthew said nervously, all but being dragged out onto the rugby field by a rather demanding Alfred. It was the third day of February, the game wasn't until the end of the month, and already Alfred had exhausted his benched rugby mates, and his usual training partner, Ivan, who was still recovering from his wound.

"I just need you to throw some passes, Mattie. I promise I won't tackle you or anything," Alfred said. He'd put a helmet on Matthew's head that was rather too big for him, as well as padding that hung off his slender shoulders rather pathetically. Matthew looked nervous, and kept glancing at the stadium seating in the hopes that Francis would realize he'd been abducted and would come rescue him.

"I'm telling you I can't throw to save my life," Matthew protested.

"Nonsense!" Alfred said, energetically pressing the ball into Matthew's chest. Matthew grunted, hunching over at the force, coughing in surprise. He'd never been athletic—and not in the way that Alfred was un-athletic (always screwing up at the last possible second); no, Matthew fell firmly in the camp of 'I'm-too-pretty-for-grass-stains,' run away from the ball before it impacts, and 'why doesn't everyone just do yoga?' sort of un-athletic.

"Please, Mattie? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? With sprinkles on top? I'll clean your room. I'll do your laundry! I'll shave Francis's head so you'll finally have the prettiest hair out of all of us!"

Matthew scowled under his rugby helmet, adjusting it slightly so it didn't dip over his eyes.

"If you laugh at me when I throw this ball, I swear to _god_…I won't be nice to you anymore," Matthew said bracingly. Alfred bit back a grin and nodded, holding up a little salute.

"I won't laugh—scout's honor," he promised. Alfred jauntily jogged down the field, an impossibly long distance. "Okay! Let her rip!"

Matthew screwed up his face in concentration. He cranked his arm back as far as he could manage, the ball balancing precariously in his grip. He channeled every ounce of his strength into the throw and sent it flying with all his might.

It arched beautifully through the air…and landed with a thud roughly ten feet down the field, bouncing weakly a few times before rolling to a stop. Nearly twenty-five yards down the field, Alfred's hands dropped to his sides. For a long moment, the two boys simply stood on the field. Matthew's cheeks flushed darkly with color.

A single snort of laughter escaped Alfred's mouth, though he furiously tried to block it with his hand.

"SCREW YOU, ALFRED! I DON'T EVEN LIKE RUGBY!" Matthew roared, running forward and awkwardly kicking the ball in his frustration. To add insult to injury, he missed, and slipped hard onto the field.

This was the scene Francis found as he walked onto the field, a concerned expression filling his eyes. Matthew's head craned backwards and he noticed his boyfriend—Francis's gaze sympathetic, his arms open and waiting. Sniffling (most certainly _not_ crying, he just had grass allergies!) Matthew tore across the field towards the other boy and collided almost painfully with him. Alfred joined them reluctantly, both sheepish looking and disappointed.

"He put me in all this awful, stinky rugby gear, and I don't even know if it's been properly washed, and I _told_ him I don't like playing sports and that Coach Carter lets me sit out like the girls who are on their periods because I have delicate wrists, but he didn't listen and he—he—made me throw the stupid ball and then he _laughed_ at me. It was awful! Francis, where have you _been_?"

Francis freed Matthew from the stinky, too-big helmet and cradled the other boy against his chest, protectively petting him.

"Shh, there, there, _mon cher_. I am here now. I won't let him abuse you anymore," Francis said, glaring at Alfred over Matthew's sweaty curls. Matthew sniffled again, glaring at Alfred from the safety of Francis's arms like a sullen little boy. He completed the image by sticking out his tongue.

"Oh _come _on! Francis, _please_ tell me you can throw. That's all I need!" Alfred begged, extending the ball hopefully. Francis sniffed disdainfully and guided Matthew off the field.

"You have a brand new boyfriend who is besotted with you, and what do you do? Spend all your time rolling around in the grass and traumatizing by darling Matthew. If you only need someone to throw a ball, why don't you throw your own damn ball and then run to catch it? Don't hurt anymore innocent bystanders!" Francis lectured sarcastically.

He should have known better to use sarcasm on Alfred. Just as Francis was reaching the edge of the field, Matthew glanced backwards.

"Oh lord," he said. There Alfred was, playing catch with himself…or at least trying to and failing spectacularly.

"Words fail me. Let us go quickly. I'll check you for bruising, _mon cher_," Francis promised. Feeling a little better (and not at _all_ sympathetic for Alfred) Matthew was happily escorted off the field. They were passed by Arthur, who (much like Francis) had spent most of the afternoon trying to track down his missing boyfriend.

"He's on the football field, though if you know what's good for yourself, you'll leave him there," Matthew warned.

"He's practicing _again_? He stayed out here 'till nearly eleven last night with Berwald, till Timo came stomping out here in his pajamas and dragged Berwald off by his ear."

"Well, what can I say? Your honeymoon was cut short—courtesy of the rugby season," Francis jibed in a parting shot. Arthur scowled. He understood Alfred's desire to play well and win at least one game during the season, in front of his father, no less, but it was growing to the point of ridiculousness.

Arthur became more convinced of this theory when he saw _just_ what Alfred was attempting to do on the field.

Arthur had so far avoided practicing with Alfred, though if he wanted to spend any time at all with the other boy, he ended up sitting on the cold bleachers for hours watching him train with his various friends. He must be getting desperate if he'd resorted to kidnapping Matthew. He walked out onto the field, shoving his cold hands deeply into the pockets of his new leather jacket. He'd needed a new jacket to keep him warm, considering Alfred kept him outdoors in the freezing cold far too often. Alfred had decorated the jacket with a hem of metal studs during his last craft club meeting, and now it was his favorite piece of clothing.

Alfred ran up to him after _finally_ noticing his presence. Arthur frowned. Alfred smiled, no doubt in a way that he thought was charming. Arthur's scowl deepened.

"Did you bring me kisses?" Alfred asked in a ridiculous baby voice, turning the charm on high. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, arching a thick eyebrow.

"We stayed out here till nearly midnight last night. You _promised_ you'd take today off," Arthur scolded. Alfred's despair shined in his damnable blue eyes and he suddenly made Arthur feel like he was being mean to a dog that had just been run over and left to whine on the street until he froze and died.

Alfred pathetically pushed the ball against Arthur's crossed arms, his bottom lip pushed out for maximum, pity-me effect.

"Please, honeybear?" Alfred asked. Arthur huffed irritably, but snatched at the ball after a long moment.

"Only if you quit calling me those _ridiculous_ pet names! I'm not your _baby_, or your _muffin_, or god-only-knows-what-else. It is _not_ cute, nor is it funny," Arthur said. Alfred flashed him a megawatt grin, and kissed the tip of his nose.

"M'kay, cupcake…that was the last one, I promise." Alfred was still talking in his baby voice, which Arthur loathed almost as much as he secretly loved it.

"Get your arse down the field, you bleeding sap," he barked.

Alfred swooped in and stole another kiss before jogging off, with a chipper cry of "Okay! Fire when ready!"

Arthur stared at Alfred, clearly unimpressed.

"Alfred…you're five yards away."

Alfred smiled at him, his head cocking to the side. "I know, _kitten_, but you and Matthew don't play sports, so I really shouldn't expect you to—"

Arthur had casually placed the ball on the ground, taken a few steps back, and after a light little jog, kicked the ball and sent it spiraling beautifully down the length of the field. Alfred watched it glide over his head like a comet, like a jet…like various other things that glided beautifully and perfectly across the sky.

The ball sailed neatly through the goal posts, nearly forty yards down the field.

"There you go, _puppy_. Now _fetch_," Arthur said with a saccharine sweet grin. Alfred's jaw hung open, and for the first time _ever_, the goofy, loud-mouthed, energetic boy was completely and totally speechless.

Arthur sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Do you want me to kick it for you or not?"

Weakly closing his mouth, Alfred took off stumbling down the field after the ball, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. By the time he'd returned, his expression was hardened into skepticism.

"Do it again," he demanded, all joking gone from his tone. Arthur frowned primly, taking the ball from Alfred's hands and tossing it carelessly onto the middle of the field. He eyed the goal posts, did some quick mental calculations, took his few running steps and performed the kick again, just as effortlessly as he had before.

"How many times am I going to have to kick it before you tire yourself out chasing it?" Arthur asked a bit moodily. "I wanted to go see a movie or something tonight. I'd hoped we could go on a _proper_ date."

"Arthur, forget that! Don't you realize what you can _do_? You're…that was…we gotta go get Berwald! And the coach!" Alfred insisted. Arthur was already shaking his head.

"What? No. Absolutely not. I will come to every game you play in, but I have _no_ desire what-so-ever to—"

"Arthur, you could _save_ our team. We could win a game because of you! Don't you get it? This is a miracle! It's a Christmas miracle!"

"You imbecile—Christmas was nearly a month ago," Arthur corrected, though his cheeks flushed with color. "And, as I _just_ stated, I have no desire to play rugby. Fencing is much more to my liking. I don't like team sports and I refuse to play them."

"Arrrtthuuuurrrrrr!" Alfred whined, dropping down to his knees and startling Arthur by hugging his leg. "Arthur…if you kick the ball during our game with your beautiful, golden leg of awesome…I will suck your penis."

Arthur flushed with color and smacked Alfred hard upside his head.

"You'll do that anyway, you git, regardless of whether or not I join your silly rugby team." Alfred hugged his leg tighter, more desperately. He added the pout.

"But if you think it's so silly, why do you come to every game and practice?" Alfred demanded, thinking he'd finally trapped Arthur in their argument. The British boy just rolled his eyes in exasperation, and carded his fingers lovingly through Alfred's blond locks, damp with sweat.

"Because I like watching you do something you love, of course. I don't give a damn about the game. I barely even understand the rules, you foolish boy," Arthur said. Alfred stood, reclaiming the small amount of dignity he had left.

"Please, Arthur? I'll never ask you to play again, but just for this _one_ game, when we're down so many players, and we've got next to no chance to win this thing…please? Do it for me?"

Arthur sighed, knowing he'd lost the battle as soon as Alfred had started batting those impossibly blue eyes at him.

"Oh…_fine_…but I want to go to the movies tonight and you're bloody well going to take me! _And_ you'll pay for my ticket, and snog with me proper during the boring bits," Arthur demanded. After a moment's hesitation he added, with a cheeky grin, "And you can still suck me off. We can do that part now, actually. The movie doesn't start 'til eight."

Alfred swept Arthur up into his arms, laughing happily, spinning the shorter boy around before returning him to the field and peppering his lips with kisses. Finally, Arthur managed to push him off, though it was no easy task.

"Alright, alright! I get it—I've made you happy. You can stop slobbering all over me already!"

"Before the sucking off part, can we do just a few more passes?" Alfred asked sweetly. Arthur released a put-upon sigh but sent Alfred after the ball with a nod of his head and an expression that said 'I spoil you.'

USUK

Alfred couldn't stop talking about rugby all night. Even as they'd tumbled into Arthur's bed, with Arthur's pants crumpled around his ankles, Alfred was raving about averages and stats and plays that they would be able do now that the team hadn't been able to do before. Arthur "mm-hmm'd" and "ah-huh'd" as patiently as he could manage, finally getting some peace and quiet by putting Alfred's mouth to other uses. Alfred was enthusiastic with his mouth—almost as if he was going after whatever came near it with the gusto of eating a melting ice cream cone. It made for messy kissing, but rather fantastic oral.

Arthur shifted slightly, heat pooling in his cheeks, his head tipping upwards as Alfred rhythmically bobbed up and down on his shaft. The American took him in deeply, his tongue curling around and swirling over the head, pressing and flicking over all the right spots. Arthur was biting back a moan (pleased to note that he wasn't reaching climax quite so quickly anymore) when Alfred released him with a wet little _plop_ noise.

"Do _you_ think we'll win the game?" Alfred asked. Arthur groaned in frustration, his hand tangling in Alfred's hair and pushing him downwards again. Grinning, Alfred resisted the motion, and darted forward to kiss his piercing instead. "My jaw is tired!" he complained babyishly. Arthur pulled the other boy off his nipple and kissed him hotly before groping for his hand and tugging it towards his arousal.

"Finish what you started," Arthur chastised. Alfred obligingly pumped him, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry, and in fact, he seemed rather distracted.

"Think Berwald will still be up when we get back from the movie?" Alfred asked. Arthur opened his verdant eyes wide enough to glare at Alfred in annoyance.

"If you keep prattling on about…urgh!" Alfred had given Arthur a firmer squeeze that caused the British boy to arch his back. After riding the moment of pleasure, Arthur continued, "If you keep prattling about Berwald, I'm going to start saying his name instead of yours!" Arthur threatened with a baleful glare.

Alfred grinned, perhaps finally realizing just how much he was annoying Arthur by his inability to stay focused on the rather needy matter in hand. He stretched his jaw a bit, pecked Arthur swiftly on the lips, and returned to his original task. Little grunts and moans began spilling out of Arthur's mouth in an intoxicating rush. Alfred's body responded, his jeans tenting uncomfortably. He gave Arthur a particularly long, hard suck and the other boy came, with his boyfriend's name on his lips.

"Now _I'm_ hard," Alfred complained, swallowing his mouthful and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Arthur glared at him weakly.

"You sucked me off was for this rugby game of yours. What do _I _get for going down on you?" Arthur asked, though his tone made it clear he was teasing. It was hard for him, though. After he came, all he wanted to do was melt into a puddle of goo and sleep for hours. Alfred, however, just got more energetic.

"I wanna try that thing you did the other night," Alfred said, already unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his hips.

"What thing?" Arthur asked. But Alfred didn't seem to need his permission as he all but lifted the boneless boy up and flipped him over, exposing his round little tush to Alfred's hungry eyes. "Alfred!" Arthur protested weakly, not sure what the other boy was intending to do. He began to the general idea, however, when Alfred tugged him onto his knees and thrust between his barely parted thighs. He played with Arthur's back and arse as he did so, alternating between squeezing and petting, and pressing kisses along the other boy's shoulder blades. Arthur pillowed his face on his arms and let his eyes drift shut, still feeling drained and sleepy. His eyes widened in slight alarm, however, when Alfred's thrusting shifted upwards slightly, and he felt the other boy brushing against his balls, against the cleft of his arse.

Arthur was curious about anal sex, of course, but at the same time, he had some pretty serious reservations. He'd poked around with his own fingers a bit and it hadn't exactly been a pleasurable experience—just a strange, heavy feeling that was more uncomfortable than anything else.

"Watch where you're aiming that thing," Arthur protested, rising up shakily on his elbow to toss a glare back at Alfred. Alfred, however, had his head tilted back and his eyes rolled upwards in bliss. His jaw hung open loosely and he gave Arthur's hips a squeeze that was hard enough to bruise as he came between the other boy's legs.

"Alfred! Couldn't you have grabbed the bloody towel? That's why we have it!" Arthur scolded, weakly tossing the towel at Alfred's face. The American boy chuckled, pulling it off, winding it up, and popping Arthur on the butt with it.

"What can I say? I like cumming on _you_ so much more," Alfred said huskily, in a voice that was almost entirely different from his chipper, usual way of speaking. The voice he used when they were in bed was deeper, more confident and assertive. It told Arthur that he had to constantly be on guard with the other boy, or else Alfred was liable to take certain liberties without even asking. Arthur was learning that the other boy was ruthlessly energetic and forceful when he had a goal in mind and could manage to stay focused on it. While it was enjoyable to feel swept up for the ride, Arthur realized they'd probably have to discuss what had been happening between them soon, and establish some boundaries.

Arthur flipped himself over, cleaning up with the towel as best he could manage, scowling at Alfred the entire time (who just grinned at him, and played with himself with a proud little grin).

"At least _warn_ me next time," Arthur said prissily. Alfred's cocky grin faded into a somewhat bashful smile.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, placing his hands on either side of Arthur's slender chest and kissing him sweetly. The kiss was incredibly restrained for Alfred, without tongue or teeth, just a gentle press of lips. When they parted, Arthur gave him a baleful glare.

"What did I tell you about those nicknames of yours?" Arthur said. Alfred, however, carefully stretched out on top of him, draping himself over Arthur like a warm, heavy blanket. Arthur reclined onto his pillow to ease the strain on his back that came from half-sitting up with the other boy's dead weight pressing him down.

"I won't use 'em anymore if you cuddle with me," Alfred requested, burrowing his face into Arthur's neck rather persuasively. Thankfully, the bigger boy rolled off to the side a bit, taking Arthur with him, cradling him in his arms like a child clutching a beloved stuffed bear.

"Alright, but just for a bit. I really _do_ want to go on a date, Alfred," Arthur said. The other boy "mm'd" against Arthur's skin in what Arthur assumed was agreement.

"You smell good…like…like toast," Alfred said. Arthur's eyebrows hitched up at the bizarre statement.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"With butter," Alfred added, as if that made the statement more complimentary and less bizarre.

"If I smell like toast it's because _you_ jazzed all over me—I was clean smelling before. Now I want to shower," Arthur grumbled.

"So…my jizz smells like toast? Awesome," Alfred decided, before burrowing his nose into Arthur's hair. "But…I didn't cum up here…and your hair _definitely _smells like toast…and a little like strawberries."

"That's my shampoo. I don't know where you're getting the toast from," Arthur replied. His eyes slid to the wall clock, which proclaimed the time to be nearly seven. "Are you done cuddling yet?" he asked, a bit impatiently. Alfred squeezed him, tickling his neck as he nuzzled against Arthur further. He seemed to think this was an acceptable answer, but Arthur began to wiggle out of his grasp.

"We're not going to have enough time. I want to see the previews," Arthur said, escaping Alfred's hold and darting into the bathroom for a quick rinse. Alfred pouted. Part of his reluctance to leave likely stemmed from the fact that he _knew_ what movie Arthur was eyeing, and had absolutely no desire to see it.

It was a British film, for starters—one that didn't even have a clear plot and seemed to be mostly about the actors stumbling about in some big house, wearing strange clothes, and stammering awkwardly at each other before bouts of heavy kissing erupted at odd moments between unlikely couples.

With a groan, Alfred dragged himself out of bed and pulled up his jeans, rummaging around for his abandoned shirt. Arthur re-emerged just seconds later, wet and nude, and it made Alfred want to try once more to distract him from wanting to go to the movies. He'd barely reached for the other boy, however, when Arthur expertly smacked his hand away and proceeded to dress.

Alfred sighed. The movie it was, then.

USUK

"We could see—"

"I already told you what we're seeing, Alfred. I'm playing in your silly rugby match, remember? So I get to pick the movie," Arthur bossed, as they moved through the small line. It was a cold, rainy Thursday night, so the theater was fairly empty, which was why Arthur had wanted to go that evening instead of over the weekend. He'd glanced around to see if he spotted any of his classmates, but it was only the sleepy looking cinema workers, and a few older couples. They'd still made it a little early.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure…because once these two hours of our lives are gone, we can't ever have them back," Alfred replied.

Arthur gave Alfred a pointed glare. It was their turn at the ticket window and Alfred pulled out his wallet.

"Two tickets for _Mass Extinction_," he said. Arthur scowled, and snatched Alfred's card out of his hand.

"He _means_ to say we want tickets for _Brighton House_."

"Which is it going to be?" the ticket girl asked. Then she squinted as if she recognized one or both of them, but shook her head as if she were imagining things.

"_Brighton House_," Alfred said, with an exaggerated sigh. He reached for Arthur's hand, giving it a loving squeeze. Arthur smiled, his good mood restored. Alfred took back his card and tucked it away, still holding Arthur's hand as they entered the cinema.

"I need the loo. Get me something with chocolate," Arthur said. He started to tug away from Alfred, but the taller boy wouldn't release him just yet.

"Nu-uh. Tell me _exactly_ what you want, 'cause otherwise you're just going to say that you wanted something different instead of what I get," Alfred said. Arthur smirked, knowing it was true enough.

"_Fine_…get me gummi bears," he said. Alfred rolled his eyes, but he was grinning.

"See? Those don't even _have_ chocolate. How would I have ever guessed that?" But Arthur was already slipping into the restroom, chuckling at his plight all the way. Shaking his head, Alfred went to the concession stand and ordered his usual haul of two bags of popcorn (European portions were so small!), a large drink (bemoaning the lack of ice cubes), a box of gummi bears for Arthur, and a veritable rainbow of candy bars for himself. As an afterthought, he added another drink to the order for Arthur, even though he knew the other boy didn't care overly much for soda.

When Arthur returned from the restroom, he didn't even bat an eye at all the food Alfred had bought, and merely snagged his little box of gummi bears and the tickets. There were only three screens in the little cinema, but the movie theater was still very popular amongst the local students because it had low prices.

Alfred and Arthur sat in the balcony, and Alfred situated all his snacks. There weren't any cup holders, so most of it ended up piled precariously on top of their coats in the seat next to Alfred. The American boy munched a few handfuls of popcorn before faking a yawn and sliding his arm around Arthur's shoulders. The shorter boy just grinned, and shook his head in bemusement.

USUK

They returned from the movie cold and wet, both of them sleepy, and Ivan was already asleep when Alfred popped into their room to grab his night things. He left as soundlessly as he'd come, already thinking happy thoughts about a warm bed. The movie (as he'd expected) had been pretty terrible, but Arthur liked it. He claimed it had deeper meaning, and that it made sense, an opinion which Alfred dismissed as total bullshit. He kept that thought to himself, though, in a rare-moment of self-preservation.

Alfred changed in a split second, eager to be out of his damp clothes, and left them in a messy pile at the foot of the bed that Arthur would fret over in the morning. The other boy was in the bathroom, dutifully brushing his teeth.

When he finally emerged, Arthur slipped into bed and pulled his newest book off the nightstand. Alfred rolled over next to him, fiddling with his god-awful head gear. He popped a few rubber bands painfully against the inside of his mouth before he finally managed to get half of the contraption attached to his face. It was essentially a long metal bar with a padded little plastic piece that rested snugly against Alfred's forehead, and a piece that hugged his chin. The bands hooked from the brackets on the sides of Alfred's teeth to the metal bar, thus dramatically increasing how hard his teeth were tugged upon while he slept. He often woke up with headaches, and that was only if he was lucky and didn't roll over in the middle of the night, snapping the bands painfully as the headgear was knocked off.

Not to mention, it made it awfully difficult for Arthur to wake him up in the middle of the night with a sweet kiss, or to peck his lips affectionately in the morning.

"Alfred, why don't you skip it tonight?" Arthur asked, turning a page in his book. Alfred ignored him, and continued to fumble with the waxy little bands and the headgear. Arthur glanced at him, a brow raised in a familiar expression of fond exasperation. "I promise I'll love you even if your teeth stay a bit crooked," Arthur added.

The third band Alfred had tried snapped, cutting on a bit of metal that had been left too sharp inside the teen's mouth. Alfred huffed in irritation and pulled the torture device off his face.

"Screw it," he grumbled, passing it to Arthur. His boyfriend put it onto the nightstand, next to Alfred's glasses. Arthur was reclining against a pillow propped up rather comfortably against the headboard, using the lamp on the nightstand to read by. Alfred cuddled sweetly against Arthur's thigh. "Read to me?" he requested sleepily, a yawn escaping him. Arthur smiled, and shifted one knee up to support his book so he could stroke his fingers through Alfred's shower-dampened hair.

Arthur read a few chapters softly, absorbed in the story, not even noticing when Alfred drifted off into slumber beside him. Finally, when his eyes were aching from the strain, Arthur gently closed his book and returned it to the nightstand. Trying not to wake Alfred, he slipped down further under the covers. Alfred rolled onto his back, his breathing pattern changing subtly as he resettled. Arthur curled up on the other boy's chest, toying a bit with Alfred's night shirt before his own eyes drifted shut peacefully. It was wonderful, falling asleep in such a way, and Arthur didn't know how he'd ever managed to fall asleep in the empty, too-big bed before Alfred had begun to share it with him.

**A/N: **Six pages of porn, eight pages of fluff. I advanced one tiny, teeny little element of the plot in this chapter…and that was about it. Lol, I was feeling lazy. I tried to make up for Matthew and Francis not getting their photo shoot scene, though. Hopefully now you'll have a bit of a better understanding of how I write smexy stuff, and you can get some idea as to if it will be your cup of tea or not. Oh, and the pet names likely won't continue past this chapter, if they annoyed you. I just wanted to show how silly and sweet the two of them are at this stage in the game. They've been together all of three days, so of course, Alfred has to try and use every term of endearment on Arthur that he's ever heard anywhere at all.

And don't laugh at poor Matthew, with his grass allergies and his delicate wrists! * grin * It's just not allowed—Francis said so. :P


	31. Asking for Blessings

Chapter 31

Alfred sighed as he re-read the e-mail a third time. It was one of the first times in his memory he ever recalled his mother apologizing to him, even though it was curt and rather annoyed sounding (if an e-mail could even _have_ a tone). Still, it let Alfred know she was upset by the strain between them and had been stewing over it. Biting his lip, Alfred typed a short reply accepting her apology. He also insisted that he wouldn't end his friendship with Ivan and wouldn't change his mind any time soon. He hinted that he had big news, though, and he confirmed her suspicions that he was gay.

At least, this way, when his father showed up in a week he wouldn't have to come out. He'd already know.

"Does this tie look alright?" Arthur asked, emerging from the bathroom in a rather nice outfit. Alfred was dressed equally well, in trousers and a suit jacket.

"I like it. Didn't your mom give it to you for Christmas?" Alfred asked. His boyfriend nodded absently and returned to the mirror, scowling critically at his ensemble. Smiling affectionately, Alfred closed his laptop and stood, stretching his ever-growing limbs.

"You look good, Artie," Alfred said with a smile. Arthur glanced at him, nodded, and appeared to be trying to psych himself up for the evening that was coming. Alfred crossed the room and leaned over to peck Arthur on the cheek.

"Technically, shouldn't _I_ be the nervous one? Your parents already like you—it's me they're not so sure about," Alfred joked. Arthur, however, rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. My father thinks very highly of you. I can't say that he won't be giving you a call once that calendar is released next month, but for now, you're on his good list."

"And your mom?" Alfred prompted.

"She likes you, of course, but it might be a little different now that we're dating. She met you when we were just friends. I don't know how she'll feel towards the first boyfriend I bring home," Arthur said, a thoughtful expression on his face. Alfred pulled him into a gentle hug.

"Well, I won't make a very good impression by getting you to the restaurant late. We need to get a cab pretty soon. You sure you're ready for this?" Alfred confirmed. Arthur met Alfred's blue-eyed gaze confidently and nodded, a small smile touching his lips.

"I couldn't be more proud of you. I want them to know who's responsible for making me so happy," Arthur said, in a rare moment of sweetness. Alfred melted a little inside and hugged the other boy tighter, kissing him lovingly.

"You're just a big sap, aren't you?" Alfred teased, after they parted. Arthur scowled, and flicked Alfred on the ear.

"Don't be a prat," he scolded. Grinning, Alfred intertwined their hands and led Arthur out of his room. They had invited Arthur's parents to join them for dinner at a nice restaurant in London, and they were planning on telling them about their new status as a couple.

As the cab carried them speedily towards their destination, Arthur grew more and more nervous. It was a strange role reversal—Alfred, who should have been the one freaking out, merely held Arthur's hand and smiled at him with an almost shy sort of confidence.

"Relax, Arthur. Your parents will see how serious I am about you. I'm not going to mess this up—not something so important," Alfred promised. The shorter boy smiled thinly and scooted closer to Alfred, soaking up his confidence and warmth. Alfred was right. His nerves were quite silly.

The restaurant came into view and Arthur let out a shaky breath. He couldn't help the nerves zipping around just beneath his skin, making him feel like a live wire sparking and twitching. Alfred slid out of the cab after paying the driver and extended his hand to him, still wearing that new, confident smile.

For a strange moment, the situation seemed to fade away, and it was just Alfred smiling at him, holding out his hand, waiting for him to take it. He was absolutely crazy about the boy. He loved him so much he would have never even thought such an emotion existed.

He placed his hand in Alfred's and exited the cab, feeling some of the nervous butterflies fade away. Everything was going to be fine.

His parents were already seated in a VIP section of the restaurant. It was quiet and rather secluded, and the restaurant staff were bending over backwards to offer the best possible service. Arthur's parents smiled at them happily, and Arthur's mother got up to give them both a hug.

"It's so good to see you again, Alfred. You left so suddenly over the holiday that I was worried my cooking had scared you off," she joked. Arthur winced, all-too-aware it had been his own rudeness that had been the cause for Alfred's sudden departure, but of course his parents didn't know that.

"Oh, no, ma'm! Not at all. If I can survive Arthur's cooking, I think I can handle anything. I _am_ sorry I had to leave so suddenly, though. Did you find my note?"

"Yes, yes, such a sweet boy! Not many teenagers running around these days with such good manners."

"Note?" Arthur asked confusedly. As they all got seated, his mother gave Alfred a fond smile.

"Alfred left your father and myself a very sweet thank-you note, and even had some flowers sent. You really didn't have to, dear, but they were quite lovely."

"I'm glad you liked them," Alfred said. Arthur, meanwhile, was staring a bit stupidly at the other boy. In the middle of their fight, Alfred had still had the presence of mind to leave a thank-you note for his mother and father, and even after he'd kicked him out, essentially into the snow, Alfred had sent flowers?

Alfred noticed his gaping and winked at him.

"What? Just 'cause I don't always use my manners doesn't mean I don't have them," Alfred defended. Arthur marveled a bit, but managed to close his mouth. He realized he was blushing, while everyone at the table was casting amused glances his way. He snatched up the menu and studied it rather intently, leaving Alfred on his own. He'd expected the other boy to falter, but Alfred cleared his throat and spoke rather confidently.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland, we invited you to dinner tonight because I wanted to talk with you both about something very important. I've asked your son to be my boyfriend. I know we're kinda young, but I wanted you to know that I'm really serious about him, and he's my best friend, so I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt him. I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you both, and to ask if there were any special rules you have about Arthur dating that I should know about," Alfred said, not even stumbling over his words. They didn't sound rehearsed. Alfred was speaking from the heart, and being perfectly sincere.

Arthur (who had just taken a sip of water at the beginning of Alfred's little speech) coughed in surprise. Still half-hidden behind his menu, he flushed with embarrassment and turned wide green eyes towards Alfred.

_He'd_ been planning on telling his parents about them—he'd never suspected Alfred would initiate the topic (and in such a way!) before their appetizers had even arrived. Alfred just raised an eyebrow at him in concern and lightly patted him on the back.

"You okay, hun?" Alfred asked. At the addition of the casual endearment (he though Alfred was finally over saying such ridiculous things!) Arthur completely lost his composure. He jerked rather strangely (perhaps a side-effect of the complete mortification) and accidentally knocked over his water glass. It spilled onto the table, dripped a little on his trousers, and the majority of it soaked into the carpet.

"I have to go to the restroom!" Arthur blurted, stumbling out of his chair and startling the waiter that had been coming to take their order.

"Your highness! Is there anything—"

But Arthur was already gone, leaving the waiter to fuss over the overturned glass and insist upon moving them all to the nearby, vacant table.

"Well, Arthur is certainly nervous tonight, isn't he? I don't think I've ever seen him so out of sorts," Prince George commented. It was the first thing the stoic man had said all night. Mary shook her head in exasperation but smiled fondly.

"I know we probably say it too much, but Arthur really _is_ such a sensitive boy. He held onto his dummy till he was nearly six, you know," she said. Alfred's brow hitched upwards in confusion.

"His…dummy?" he asked.

"Oh, you'd call it a pacifier, I believe," she said. Alfred bit back a smile. Oh, _that_ was funny.

"I promise he's usually the tough one between the two of us. If it hadn't been for him, I'd have been all over the place this year," Alfred said. Mary smiled proudly.

"Arthur _is_ a good boy. I know it must have been hard on him this year, and if that awful scandal is to be the worst of it, I suppose I should be grateful. It's a lot less than what most parents have to deal with," she said. George nodded, seemingly in agreement, and leveled a rather serious look at Alfred.

"We've already spoken, so you know how I feel about the subject. I trust you'll keep an eye out for Arthur, and treat him well. Next year will be Arthur's first time to live so far away from us, and I expect you to take good care of him when he's in the states," Prince George said. Mary nodded.

"You seem to be a very sweet and thoughtful boy, and my only rule is that you both stay out of trouble. Behave responsibly and take things slow. You're both young and there's no rush," she said. Alfred nodded respectfully.

"I'll treat Arthur with respect. I know he loves you both very much, and your good opinion is really important to him, so I won't let you down," Alfred assured earnestly. Mary gave him a fond smile and George nodded, almost dismissively—as if he'd already decided Alfred was a trustworthy boy and was no longer concerned about the issue.

The waiter had taken their initial order and the conversation had shifted to food by the time Arthur returned. He looked less red-faced, but still nervous. He was biting at his bottom lip rather harshly. Alfred flashed him a concerned smile when he sat.

"Better?" Alfred asked. Arthur nodded.

"The waiter came and you were gone, so I just ordered your usual tea—lemon on the side," Alfred informed. Arthur's lips quirked into a smile.

"Thanks. So…everything's okay, I suppose?" Arthur asked, his green eyes meeting those of his parents rather hesitantly. Alfred took a sip of his coke and watched them.

"Of course, dear. I admit, you both seem very serious about this and it's a bit sooner than I expected we'd be having such a conversation, but Alfred's a sweet boy. He'll take good care of you," Mary said. George nodded.

"Alfred is a fine young man. I know he'll keep you out of trouble," George said. Arthur frowned slightly.

"Why do you keep saying he'll take care of _me_? I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, for starters, and—"

"Oh, Arthur, hush. We don't mean it like that at all. We only mean that you spend so much time alone if someone doesn't drag you away from your books. You take everything so seriously that we _do_ worry about you. If you don't have a little fun when you're young, when will you?" his mother said.

"Speaking of fun, I've convinced Arthur to join the rugby team—just for the final game of the season. He's really a fantastic kicker," Alfred said. Mary blinked in surprise and George huffed in dry amusement.

"Colin and Patrick are our athletes. Arthur's fairly good with a foil, but I don't know about _rugby_." Mary was working herself into a fret over it and Arthur was glaring at Alfred.

"Arthur, poppet, I really don't know about that. Rugby is such a tough sport, and you're not as big as your year mates by far. Patrick was a good two heads taller than you at your age, and twice as thick around."

"I'll be _fine_, mum," Arthur replied snippily.

"He'll stay out of the scrum—we won't let him get hurt or tackled," Alfred said. Arthur, however, was working himself up into a right temper.

"Even if I _were_ to be tackled, I could handle it, you know. I'm not a pre-pubescent girl," he said rather moodily. Mary shot him a rather patronizing look of agreement that seemed to only ruffle Arthur's feathers more.

"I _know_ dear, but all the same, _do_ watch out for him, Alfred. You bigger lads can be a bit rough without even realizing—"

"Mum!" Arthur interrupted with a scowl.

"Don't interrupt your mother, Arthur," George scolded, before taking another sip of his wine. Arthur turned his head sharply, glaring at nothing in particular. Alfred just smiled.

"Arthur's tougher than he looks, but I don't want him to get hurt, either," Alfred said. Arthur glanced at him in surprise, and his glare softened ever-so-slightly. When Alfred put it like _that_…

"If you two wanted to come see the game, I suppose I don't mind you coming," Arthur muttered. His mother smiled and his father smirked.

"Alright, poppet, we'll do our best to make it to the game to cheer for the two of you. I imagine it's very important to you, Alfred."

"Yes ma'm. I've been training for this game all season. The team wants to win one so bad we can almost taste it," he said, that familiar fire lighting in his blue eyes. Without really thinking about it, Arthur reached for the other boy's hand and their fingers knitted together perfectly, as if they'd been doing it for years.

The food came, and the rest of the evening was a rather surprising success.

USUK

As they changed into their pajamas, Arthur found himself simply watching Alfred undress, listening to him talk.

"I think it went pretty well. I mean, at least your parents don't seem to hate me," Alfred commented.

"You took the time to send my mother flowers," Arthur said, a small smile tilting up the corners of his lips. Alfred glanced at him a little sheepishly.

"Yeah…well, I wanted her to like me. It really wasn't a big deal. I just called a flower shop and explained the situation. I didn't have to pick anything out, thank goodness. She might really hate me if I'd sent _her_ the funeral flowers."

Arthur's smile turned contemplative.

"My parents…they really trust you. It kind of surprises me, actually," Arthur said. "You were so confident tonight. It was…different," Arthur said.

"Different bad, or different good?" Alfred said, as he tugged off his shoes.

"Different good," Arthur replied. Alfred smirked, and crossed the room rather suddenly in his socked feet. He loosened Arthur's tie and tugged it over his head, followed by the shorter boy's sweater vest. He undid the buttons on Arthur's dress shirt, all without breaking eye contact with Arthur.

"You make me different—better, somehow," Alfred said. Arthur blushed.

"I haven't done anything special. The only difference is that we kiss now…and do other things," Arthur said. Now his chest was bared to the other boy, and Alfred's expression was hard to read. He ran his hands over Arthur's shoulders, slowly pushing the shirt off.

"No…it's more than that. I can't really explain it," Alfred said. He leaned down and kissed Arthur's lips demandingly, his large hands sliding down Arthur's sides and resting possessively on his hips.

Arthur broke the kiss, rather dazed, a little surprised by Alfred's demeanor. Perhaps he was imagining it, but Alfred's touch even seemed different—less hesitant and bumbling, surer and heavier instead…and it was turning him on.

"Arthur…I've been thinking about it a _lot_ lately. I want…" Alfred's voice trailed off and his fingers moved to the buckle of Arthur's belt. He undid it and pulled the leather free, tossing it carelessly behind him. The button was next, followed by the zipper. The trousers pooled in a wrinkled pile at Arthur's feet.

"What do you want?" Arthur asked, turning green eyes up to stare into pools of blue. Alfred bit his lip, and his hands slid firmly over Arthur's backside.

"I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I want to…m-make love with you, Arthur." The taller boy was blushing now, the suggestive words causing his cheeks to burn scarlet.

"Oh," Arthur said softly. He'd had fantasies about it—he'd fantasized just about every position he could imagine with Alfred—but fantasizing about it versus actually _doing_ it were two very different things.

"I have everything we'd need. I've been doing some research…" Alfred said suggestively. Arthur snorted in amusement.

"I bet you have," he said. "You won't crack an English text to save your life, but—"

"Arthur, you're trying to change the subject," Alfred said, advancing forward a few steps and forcing Arthur backwards. He felt the doorframe of the bathroom hit his back, and he realized just how little clothing he was wearing compared to Alfred.

"I'm not sure about this, Alfred," Arthur finally managed to reply. It was hard to say, though, because Alfred was carelessly stroking the backs of his thighs and lightly ghosting his fingers over the curve of his arse. That deep, husky tone Alfred used whenever things turned intimate was wreaking havoc on his brain. Arthur realized he was clutching fistfuls of Alfred's dress shirt. He swallowed thickly and tugged upwards, pulling the shirt free of Alfred's trousers.

"I won't hurt you, Arthur. I promise," Alfred said. It wasn't much of an argument, especially since Arthur knew it was likely going to hurt no matter what Alfred said, but damned if it wasn't convincing. They'd been together three weeks, and they'd spent a good deal of that time with their clothes off.

"You've got a condom?" Arthur confirmed. Alfred nodded. His hands were pushing down Arthur's briefs, teasing the erection that matched Alfred's own. "And lube?" Arthur asked. With a bit of amusement glinting in his blue eyes—mischievous, boyish eyes that knew they were about to get exactly what they wanted—Alfred nodded again.

"There's more than one way to lose your virginity, you know. I've topped someone before—"

"Arthur," Alfred interrupted smoothly, his voice hinting at something dark and a little wild, "I don't want you thinking about what you've done with _someone_. I want you to think about _me_. I want you to think about what I'm about to do to you, and nothing else."

"Rather confident, aren't you? I haven't agr—ah!" Arthur's reproach was cut-off when the taller boy's gentle, playful little touches to the backs of his thighs turned into a strong grip that lifted him, without warning, off the ground. Surprised, Arthur's arms twined around Alfred's shoulders to find balance, but his grip broke when Alfred tossed him onto his old bed, where Arthur bounced a bit before settling on the mattress in a sprawl of limbs. He tried to sit up, but Alfred was too quick for him—the other boy kneeled between his legs and braced his weight on a hand placed next to Arthur's chest.

Alfred's other hand slipped between Arthur's spread legs, rubbing teasingly over his tight, little hole. Alfred had never touched him this boldly before, and he'd never looked at him so intensely. Arthur was a little nervous under such a gaze, but for the most part, it just made him _hard_.

"I might be…willing to…_consider_ the idea," Arthur said. Alfred smirked in the low light. His hand left its' task between Arthur's legs and he undid his trousers, kicking them off along with his boxers quickly. He undid his dress shirt buttons, and the shirt met with the floor in a rumpled heap. Alfred opened his beside drawer, and Arthur's eyes turned to follow the sound. The promised preparations were inside (when had Alfred stashed them there?) and Alfred was fumbling with the wrapper on the condom. It was the first hint of his usual awkwardness he'd shown all night, and Arthur was strangely comforted by it.

"Let me," he said, taking the little package and ripping it open with his teeth. He pulled out the condom and passed it to Alfred, who didn't move to take it.

"Err…" he said, blushing hotly. Rather than let Alfred do it incorrectly, and before the other boy was forced to admit his inexperience, Arthur pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it smoothly into place. His hands were shaking slightly, but he wasn't sure why. He didn't _feel_ nervous—just a little breathless. Alfred's gaze was heavy and relentless, staring straight through him, to the very core of his being.

His task complete, Arthur reached for the lube and squirted a fair amount in Alfred's hands. He distracted himself by stealing a kiss, rising up onto his knees and pressing his torso against his boyfriend's.

"The site said it's more comfortable to lie on a pillow," Alfred said. His kiss had lacked his usual level of enthusiasm. Alfred was distracted, and very, very nervous. His blush hadn't faded, and Arthur could feel the heat radiating from the other boy's skin. Despite his awkward nervousness, Alfred was looking at him in an entirely new way.

He'd thought just a few weeks before that there was nothing else—that he had given away anything worth taking in meaningless moments that he instantly regretted—but Alfred made him feel precious. The other boy's hands, usually so eager and jumpy, now smoothed over the lines of his body as if he were ethereal. Alfred's blue eyes shined with lust, but it was more than that—Alfred loved him, too, and his eyes showed his sincerity. His reservations began to fade under the bigger boy's blue eyed gaze, so full of adoration and longing. He could trust Alfred in a way he had never trusted anyone else before. What they would share together would mean something, and he wanted to be able to look Alfred in the eyes and engrave his expressions into his memory.

"Forget what you read. I want to be able to see you," Arthur finally replied, reclining onto his back against the pillows. Fighting back his own blush, he let his knees fall apart. Alfred pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, warming the substance in his hands briskly before pressing his touch once more to Arthur's entrance. He used his smallest finger, but Arthur still winced as it slid in—a rather strange feeling. Still, the mild discomfort was not enough to discourage his erection. Arthur gave his member a few firm strokes and watched the look of complete concentration on Alfred's face.

"Okay…here goes," he warned. Alfred leaned over him to press an apologetic little kiss against the corner of his lips. Arthur tilted his face and claimed a deeper one, encouraging Alfred's tongue to move against his own. Still stroking himself, he tried not to think about the heavy sensation in his arse.

Still too distracted by his task, Alfred pulled away from the kiss and glanced between their bodies, where he cursed to see his own fingers slipping in and out of Arthur smoothly. Imagining the tight warmth on his dick was nearly enough to undo him. He tried thinking calming thoughts, but Arthur's tongue was _not_ helping him stay in check.

"Just one more…then you should be ready," Alfred said, his voice cracking. Arthur craned his neck to see Alfred's movements more clearly, and the sight proved to be arousing even if the sensation (so far) was not. He bit his lip, glanced up at Alfred from beneath his lashes, and experimentally pushed against Alfred's fingers.

"More," he moaned, just to turn Alfred on. Alfred gritted his teeth at the simple word and adjusted his position before adding a third finger. His longest digit pressed in impossibly deep, and Arthur's cock jumped in his hand as an entirely new sensation jolted him. "Ungh! Alfred!" he grunted, wanting to feel whatever _that_ had been again, but the fingers were sliding out of him, leaving him feeling hollow and horribly empty. His restraint completely gone, Arthur spread his legs wider in what he hoped was an irresistible sight, his head tossing on the pillow as his hand moved faster and faster against his cock.

Then Alfred was pulling his hands away, pressing them up above his head, and his long, muscular torso was slanting over Arthur's. Alfred's length slid into him with aching slowness—ten times thicker than the fingers had been (or at least that was how it felt). A pained moan escaped Arthur's lips and he closed his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead against Alfred's shoulder.

That was when he heard the whispered chanting.

"_Clowns…car wrecks…shark attacks…dung beetles…urrrgh…fuck!_"

"What…what the b-bloody hell are you talking about?" Arthur gasped, trying with every fiber of his being not to tense up around the arousal sinking into him with agonizing slowness.

"I'm just trying not to cum!" Alfred half-shouted, his grip on Arthur's forearms tightening almost painfully before he finally (_finally!_) stopped moving. Alfred was panting, panting like a winded racehorse in Arthur's ear, and the smaller boy marveled that _he_ was the one causing such a response. Alfred was fighting his pleasure with everything he had, trying desperately not to lose himself in the moment.

It was an admirable show of restraint, and it was the last thing Arthur wanted to see. For Alfred's first time, he wanted him to see stars. Arthur bit his lip harshly, squinted his eyes shut, and thrust his hips upward to close the last of the distance between them. Arthur was rewarded for his initiative. Alfred's unyielding erection hit _that_ spot again, and Arthur felt the spark of pleasure race right to the tip of his cock.

His gasp of pleasure mixed with pain was all the invitation Alfred needed. With a deep, husky groan, Alfred began to piston his hips in a rather awkward, unpredictable rhythm. Arthur's breathing deepened as did the discomfort. He felt hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but Arthur squeezed them away and tried to shift to lessen the uncomfortable feeling.

Alfred's face was the picture of ecstasy. Arthur drank it in as he angled his hips upwards and hooked his feet around Alfred's hips. Then the pain turned into a spectacular pleasure. Each little thrust hit the magic spot that caused the fireworks in Arthur's mind. Their moans mingled together and their huffing breaths filled the room, as their bodies rocked harder against each other, deeper and faster and relentless.

Arthur squeezed his legs tightly around bony hips; Alfred's thrusts slowed and became longer. Their eyes met and their faces drew closer together, a magnetic pull, until their sweaty foreheads were pressed together and their noses bumped. One long, forceful thrust, nearly from tip to balls, and Alfred came hard, his toes digging into the sheets for leverage.

Arthur felt all the pressure build at the base of his cock. The friction between his penis and Alfred's belly combined with that strange, sparking pleasure to cause Arthur's release. Having already orgasmed seconds before, Alfred slipped out limply and rolled to Arthur's side, releasing Arthur's trapped arms.

"I love you. You're amazing, Arthur," he said breathlessly. Arthur turned his head and kissed Alfred's soft mouth, darting his tongue out to taste Alfred's teeth and braces, his tongue and his lips.

"I love you, too," he panted, feeling as if he no longer had skin for a boundary, and all his emotions and sensations were floating away from him and bleeding into Alfred's heat and the cool, evening air.

"Was it…was it okay?" Alfred asked, his worry evident. Arthur smiled reassuringly, tangling his fingertips in the other boy's sweaty hair.

"You were wonderful, love," he praised, adding a kiss to Alfred's forehead.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Alfred asked, rolling up onto his elbow and staring concernedly at his slender boyfriend.

"Ah…a bit, but I'm fine," Arthur said. He tested out this statement by shifting slightly, and his eyes shot open in wide surprise at the jab of pain that zipped up his lower back. The hissing noise he made was all the proof Alfred needed. Energetic once more, Alfred fumbled to get the soiled condom off and wrapped it in a tissue before throwing it away.

"Stay right there. I'll get something to clean you up, okay?" Alfred fretted. Arthur rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. Alfred had told him to stay in place—as if he were just seconds away from springing up and dancing a jig.

Hell, he'd be surprised if he could sit up, let alone _go_ anywhere.

Alfred returned a few moments later with a warm washcloth. Arthur wiped his sticky skin and then collapsed once more in a tired puddle of muscle and bone. Alfred curled up beside him, nibbling at his bottom lip, obviously both excited and vulnerable. Arthur carded his fingers through Alfred's mused hair and kissed his temple.

"I mean it…you were good. That was…incredible, actually," Arthur reassured. Alfred seemed a little pacified and ceased abusing his lip. His eyelids began to droop a bit tiredly, though he'd been all nervous energy just moments before.

"So…we can do it again?" he asked hopefully, throwing in puppy dog eyes just to cement the deal. Arthur sighed with exaggerated reluctance.

"Ask me again in the morning," he replied. Unwilling to try shifting positions or rolling over (not when he was so comfortable just where he was) Arthur began to drift asleep as Alfred fetched a blanket off the other bed and covered them both up. The taller boy curled up against Arthur's chest, smiling a bit dazedly, and fell into a deep, exhausted, dreamless sleep.

**A/N: **Long time between updates, I know. Some other stuff has taken priority, though I did want to get this up for Valentine's yesterday. That's why the whole chapter is mostly just sex. Lol, there are other characters in this story, and there _is_ still a plot, but it tends to be the case in most new relationships that the happy couple doesn't get very far from bed and doesn't do much socializing, so they're kinda in their own little world right now. They'll be less smut and more plot next chapter. Happy belated Valentine's Day!


	32. Alfred's Jealousy

Chapter 32

"Hey stranger," Matthew said, as he dropped down beside Alfred in the library. The blond boy glanced up in surprise. He'd been doodling rather than doing his history assignment, which was no doubt what Arthur had left him in the library to complete while he was at music club.

"Stranger? We see each other every day in that class we have together…you know…the one with all the maps and that one dude that talks a lot," Alfred replied. Matthew grinned.

"You mean World Politics…and by 'that dude' I suppose you mean our teacher?" he suggested. Alfred scrunched up his nose in distaste.

"Yeah, that one. Thank god it's only half a semester," Alfred said.

"We _also_ have that class with Ivan, and you spend the whole period goofing off with him in the back," Matthew chided. Alfred smiled guiltily.

"Maybe…but it's _so_ boring," he defended. Matthew didn't even bother reminding Alfred that he, out of all the World Academy students, should have more of a vested interest in politics considering who his father was. Alfred seemed to forget his status in the world most of the time.

"Very true, but you should still pay attention. What good will it do having a boyfriend at World Academy if you get kicked out of World Academy?" Matthew mused, pretending to ponder deeply on the subject. Alfred stuck his tongue out.

"Yeah, yeah…I'll study more—_mother_," Alfred replied. Matthew sighed dreamily.

"I _wish_ I had your mother's cheekbones, and her hair…wouldn't mind her skin either."

"Did you just say you want to wear my mother's skin? You are _so_ weird," Alfred joked. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"You know what I meant. Seriously, though, how come Arthur's the only one you spend any time with these days, huh? What am I? Chopped liver?" Matthew asked, smiling to let Alfred know he was only joking.

"I seem to remember asking you to play rugby with me just last week—"

"That's weird. I have no memory of that whatsoever," Matthew said, suddenly scowling with pouty irritation. Oblivious to the atmosphere, Alfred plowed onwards.

"What? You _have_ to remember! I got you geared up and took you out and you threw like a two year old girl."

"That must have just been a dream you had," Matthew replied through gritted teeth. Finally catching on (and recognizing the opportunity to be annoying) Alfred grinned broadly.

"Nope. Pretty sure it was real. Then you went crying to Francis because you had grass stains."

Matthew finally settled the argument by whacking Alfred with his binder. The other boy laughed and ineffectually blocked, losing his glasses in the scuffle.

"Alright, alright! I'll stop teasing you!" Alfred said. Matthew smiled in satisfaction and returned to his seat.

"That's better. Now why are you all alone in the library? Heck, why are you out of Arthur's room? Did you guys finally have so much sex that your penis started molting?" Matthew asked, perfectly straight-faced. Alfred's expression instantly turned alarmed.

"What the hell? I've never heard of that! What's molting?" Alfred asked, in a dramatic, horrified whisper. He was shifting uneasily in his seat. Matthew glanced at him in feigned surprise.

"Every gay guy knows about _molting_. Relax, Alfred—as long as you haven't been doing it, you'll be fine."

Alfred turned dark, dark red, and he was half-hidden behind his text book when he replied in an embarrassed mumble.

"What if…what if we _have_ been doing it? You gotta tell me man, what the hell is molting?" Alfred begged. Matthew was trying _so_ hard not to laugh, but he managed to stay cool as a cucumber.

"You know…it's when the skin of your penis just kind of…molts off," Matthew said. Alfred looked horribly confused, and red as a tomato.

"I wore a condom though! Arthur's dad said that would stop STDs," Alfred harshly whispered. Matthew noticed Alfred was now cupping himself nervously under the table. Matthew pretended to consider this new information.

"Hmmm…what size condom?" Matthew asked. Growing more and more worried, Alfred coughed and replied a little shiftily.

"Err…XL," he said. Matthew raised a delicate brow. Alfred reddened impossibly further and sunk down in his seat. "Fine! Average, okay? Geez…just tell me if my penis skin is gonna fall off or not!"

This had been said rather loudly, and the snooty girl from French club shot Alfred a disgusted look before sauntering past their table. Matthew faked a cough to hide his grin.

"Well, it all depends on Arthur, really, and your size. I'm afraid being average size just makes you more susceptible to the molt. If he…you know…when you…_you know_…then it could _definitely _lead to molting," Matthew said.

"_Shit_, man! I'm pretty sure he…when I…_shit_! Mattie, what do I _do_? There's gotta be a lotion, or a cream, or _something_!" Alfred said helplessly. Matthew just shrugged.

"Gee, Alfred, you should go to the nurse. She probably gets molting cases all the time," Matthew said. Then he frowned in mock sympathy as he stood and collected his polar bear book bag. "I'm really sorry to hear you got the molt, pal. Good luck with it, eh?" Matthew said.

"Mattie—how long do I have? My junk is starting to itch now!" Alfred confessed, biting his lip. Matthew shook his head solemnly.

"Not long, Al. Itching isn't good. Whatever you do—_don't scratch_. It'll make it molt faster."

Alfred's hands instantly slammed to the table, but his legs squeezed together in an effort not to scratch his imaginary molt.

"I gotta go, Mattie. If I have to be hospitalized or something, tell Arthur that I love him—even if he gave me molt."

At that, Matthew nearly lost it, but he ducked behind a bookshelf with a goodbye wave over his shoulder and muffled his laughter into his hand once he was out of sight. From where he'd been listening behind the books, Francis was shaking with silent guffaws.

Alfred waddled out of the library, still red as a tomato and practically crying.

"Oh…that was really mean," Matthew said, wiping away tears from his eyes. Francis slung his arm around Matthew's shoulders, ducking their heads close together.

"Well, that will teach him to make fun of your athletic ability," Francis snickered. Matthew shook his head but grinned all the same.

"I can't believe he fell for that. Do you think he'll _really_ go to the nurse?" Matthew asked.

"Hopefully. Though I don't know what would be funnier—if he went to the nurse first, or to see Arthur."

"I'm sure we'll hear about it later. But I guess now the mystery is solved—they _have_ been doing it," Matthew said. Francis's hand slipped casually off Matthew's shoulder and into Matthew's back pocket. The two boys began leisurely walking towards the cafeteria.

"Asking about the condom size was a nice addition to the plan," Francis praised. Matthew pouted.

"I wasn't going to, but then he made that crack about the two-year-old girl…"

"You're more devious than I give you credit for, _mon cher_," Francis praised. Matthew smiled, all innocence and sweetness.

"Why, thank you," he said. Then he added with a wry glance at Francis, "You're likely just a bad influence." Francis chuckled.

"That is _entirely_ possible."

USUK

Arthur hit several wrong notes as the door to the music room banged open and Alfred came in, huffing like an angry bull. Roderich glared, as did the few other members congregated around the piano.

"Arthur! I gotta talk to you _now_!"

Meghan (who had joined music club only because Arthur had) rolled her eyes.

"Piss _off_, Alfred! You get Arthur all the time! Music club is _my_ time with him!"

Arthur shot Meghan a slightly disturbed look and then reluctantly addressed Alfred.

"Just _what_ is so important that it can't wait till I've finished my performance?" Arthur demanded. Alfred didn't seem to be hurt, though he was blushing a rather dark shade of red.

"It's _private_!"

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Can you two speak in the hallway? We _are_ having a meeting here," Roderich inserted. Scowling in annoyance, Arthur collected his things and apologized hastily for leaving early. Once in the hall, he crossed his arms in an annoyed fashion.

"Just what exactly is going on?"

"Matthew told me the skin on my junk was gonna fall off because we did it, and that it was called the molt, and that I should go to the nurse, and I _did_, and _she_ told me she didn't have any cures for stupid, but she's _wrong_ because I'm not just being stupid—I _do_ have the molt! Artie, my penis is itching like crazy and Mattie said that's the first sign, and if I scratch it it's gonna molt, and I googled molting and it's _not_ pretty! Don't you understand? My penis is too pretty to molt!"

Arthur slapped him. It was a light slap, but still. Alfred's blue eyes widened impossibly huge, and he sniffled, completely shocked.

"Alfred, listen to me very carefully. Does your knob have feathers?" Arthur asked. Alfred blinked in confusion.

"Jesus, now my door knob has something to do with my melting penis skin? What the hell kind of STD _is_ this?"

"Stay calm or I'm going to slap you again," Arthur warned. Alfred managed to look a little less hysterical, but that wasn't saying much.

"Knob is slang for penis. Your _penis_ does not have feathers, therefore, it can't _molt_. There's not an STD called molt. Matthew was pulling a prank on you—likely in cahoots with Francis. If the nurse was less of smartass, she would have told you they were just messing with you. Nothing is going to happen to your penis, so if you've got an itch, by all means, give it a scratch."

"Thank _god_," Alfred moaned in relief, only barely glancing down the empty hall before he furiously rubbed at his crotch. Arthur just shook his head, perhaps in a stupor that he'd actually fallen in love with the idiot.

"Anything else you'd like to clarify before I return to my club meeting?" Arthur asked, with insincere politeness. Alfred, totally missing his tone, just shook his head, looking a little pathetic.

"No…you didn't have to slap me," he pouted. Arthur stretched onto his toes and pressed a kiss to Alfred's puffy lips.

"Poor baby. First the molt and then your boyfriend smacks you around," Arthur teased. Alfred shoved him, though not at all hard.

"Yeah, yeah...laugh it up. Now that hot girl from French club thinks my penis is little and sickly. She overheard Mattie and me talking in the library." Arthur just smirked.

"Love, she likely thought your penis was little _before_ she overheard the two of you talking."

"You can go back to your club meeting now if you're gonna be like that. Is it 'be-mean-to-Alfred' day and I just missed the memo?" Alfred asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. Unable to resist, Arthur stole another kiss, grinning all the while.

"What? You missed it? But I left the memo in your clean underwear drawer…oh. I guess you didn't see it this morning, then. You really need to start changing those once a week, you know."

"Shut up! I change my underwear! Arthur, you're _supposed_ to be nice to me! You're my _boyfriend_."

Arthur grinned as he wrapped his arms around Alfred's hips.

"Oh, is _that_ right? Well, then I apologize. I'll be nice. Come here and I'll kiss away that cute little pout of yours," Arthur said. Smiling (just a little bit) Alfred leaned down and sealed his lips over Arthur's. When they parted, Arthur smacked Alfred lightly on the bum.

"Now get going. I still have another fifteen minutes in my meeting, and _you_ have homework to be doing so that we can do _other_ things tonight. You'll see how mean I am if I'm ready to get naked and you're still 500 words short on the Battle of the Bulge."

"How 'bout we skip the essay and you just battle _my_ bulge?" Alfred asked, waggling his eyebrows. Arthur stared up at him, totally blank faced.

"Wow. That was dreadful. I mean…really, really dreadful." Arthur was forced to crack a smile when Alfred mercilessly started tickling his sides, pinning him against the wall with his heavier frame so he could not escape.

"Hahahaha! You thought my joke was funny! You're laughing!"

"Wanker!" Arthur gasped in between giggles.

"We are TRYING to play music in here! Kindly take your foreplay elsewhere!" Roderich's voice boomed. For a single second, Arthur and Alfred looked a little embarrassed, but then they both collapsed against each other snickering.

Arthur pecked Alfred's lips lovingly and smiled against his lips.

"Go on. I'll see you later," Arthur said, nudging Alfred's nose with his own. Alfred nudged back, and kissed the shorter boy's chin.

"But…I already miss you," Alfred said. Arthur debated on remaining in the hall and indulging in a good snog, but decided in the end to be more mature.

"Well I can't miss _you_ if you don't leave. Goodbye, Alfred. Go do your homework."

"M'kay, m'kay…love you," Alfred said, walking reluctantly backwards down the hall. Arthur glanced over his shoulder at his boy and rolled his eyes.

"I love you, too," he said, before slipping back into the music room. Alfred smiled happily until he remembered Matthew and Francis's prank.

If he abandoned his homework to get revenge…then he wouldn't get naked time with Arthur. If he let the prank go and finished his essay, then he'd get naked time with Arthur, _and_ Arthur would be in a good mood afterwards and would likely help him plot. He'd need the help—plotting was not his strong suit.

With a sigh, Alfred trudged back towards the library. He had a history essay to finish.

USUK

Matthew's eyes widened in alarm when Gilbert casually dropped into the seat across from himself and Francis.

"Find another seat, stoner," Francis said immediately, his blond brows furrowing downwards in displeasure. Gilbert just smirked and pointedly flipped him the bird.

"As I recall, your pretty butt-boy here got stoned _with_ me. So, I'm guessing you don't object to sitting with a stoner—just me, specifically," Gilbert said. Matthew flushed dark red, and wished a snappy retort would come to mind, but his words jumbled in his chest and clogged in his throat.

Francis, however, didn't share this problem. He stood, his hands splayed on the table, and leaned rather menacingly towards Gilbert.

"You're exactly right. It _is_ just you. You can leave now, or I can escort you," Francis purred.

"Ha! _Escort_ me? Jesus, you Frenchies make everything sound so flowery and gay. Are you trying to say you'll kick my ass? But what if you break a nail?"

"Gilbert! Is there a specific reason you're here?" Matthew finally managed, glancing warily between Gilbert and Francis, who had sat back down with a huff beside him.

"Actually, there is. I need a favor. Ya see, I just so happen to be failing French."

"That is because all the pot has whipped up your brain cells into a soufflé of fluffy stupid," Francis replied. Gilbert blinked at the strange comment and then shook his head, as if dismissing Francis from the conversation.

"Yeah…_anyway_…the professor recommended _you_ as a tutor. At first, I was all 'fuck tutoring!' but then I remembered how awesome your blow jobs are, so I figured what the hell? We can smoke some chronic, speak some French, and you can suck some dick. What'dya say?"

Matthew's wide-eyed, horrified expression said all that Francis needed to hear. He grabbed his and Matthew's book bags and stood, extending his hand to his boyfriend.

"Come on, _mon cher_. We do not have to listen to this," he said. Gilbert smirked at Matthew knowingly, and even winked.

"Alright. I get it. You don't wanna beg in front of your poodle boyfriend. Once you ditch him, just come find me—you know where—our _special_ place."

"Matthew," Francis half-growled, his hand still waiting. With an annoyed glare at Gilbert, Matthew took Francis's hand and ducked into his side.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as they left the cafeteria, tears already clouding his violet eyes. Francis brusquely kissed the top of his head.

"Forget it. I will take care of it." Francis's voice was cold and hard, like the steel edge of a blade. Matthew bit his lip in worry, but didn't dare argue with Francis about the proper way to handle it.

USUK

"You like the view?" Ivan asked. Yao turned, the sunset fading at his back, and tucked his silky hair behind the curve of his ear as it caught the wind. Ivan smiled gently at the sight and crossed the roof. He walked with a slight limp now—so minor, though, that one had to know to look for it. The doctor didn't know if it would ever fade.

"It is nice up here, now that the weather is warmer," Yao said. Ivan tangled his fingers in Yao's silky hair, enjoying the feel of it for a few moments, before slipping his hand downwards to cup Yao's soft jaw.

"You should not come up here. The winds are too strong, and the stones are slippery."

Yao frowned slightly, pulling away from Ivan's touch. "I can go where I please," he replied archly. He stepped backwards, closer to the edge. There was a challenge in his dark eyes—the return of a fiery spirit that had been temporarily snuffed out by the shooting, a fire that was rekindling now day by day. Ivan both hated and loved that look. He hated it because it meant Yao had learned nothing, not really, from their horrifying experience, and he loved it because it was the part of Yao he was most attracted to, and when Yao had been so terrified of his own shadow, Ivan had thought it might be gone forever.

"Come now. Do not be stubborn and stupid. You can watch the sunset from my window," Ivan said, turning back towards the door and burying his hands in his coat. Despite Yao's claim, the weather really wasn't that much better. It was still cold and unpleasant outside. Even now, dark rainclouds threatened the warmth of the sunset.

"You and Alfred come up here all the time," Yao replied. Ivan paused mid-step, his expression slipping into one of fake cheeriness. He turned, grinning happily.

"Fine. Slip off the roof and stain the snow with all your pretty blood. Do not say I did not warn you!"

Yao was about to argue, but a particularly strong wind lashed across the gently sloped roof, as if to merely prove Ivan correct. Yao was forced back a step, then another, and he slipped on an ice-capped stone. He fell hard, and his eyes widened in alarm when his hand grasped at nothing but air. There was a small ledge, a foot high, and Yao had landed precariously on top of it. In the two seconds it took him to fall, Yao scrambled to find his balance, and was startled to see the end of Ivan's brand new scarf billowing like a crisp sail just in front of his face.

Ivan steadied him—with a hand wrapped around his shoulder—dangerously close to his throat.

"Now, what did I tell you? Are you just determined to kill yourself, or are you testing to see how many times I will risk my own safety to preserve yours?" Ivan asked. His tone was still cheery, as if he were merely curious. The cold warning in his ice pale eyes conveyed his true emotion. Yao gulped, feeling the movement ripple across Ivan's hand.

Gripping Ivan's shirt, he managed to regain his footing on the safe side of the ledge.

"I didn't tell you to follow me. I haven't asked for your help since—"

"Since I took a bullet for you? Well, it _has_ only been a month or so. Surely, even you can't get into trouble _that_ fast."

"Technically, we're not even dating," Yao said pettily, his fists clenched in Ivan's coat. His feelings for the other boy were so complicated, sometimes they simply overwhelmed him. There was gratitude, plenty of it, but also a healthy share of reluctance. He knew what Ivan was capable of first hand. He'd returned to him, perhaps stupidly, and now he saw the darkness always—it baffled him that he hadn't _truly_ seen it before. It was a touch just a little too hard against his skin. It was a look that burned rather than warmed. It was a cheery smile paired with a malicious glint in his eyes.

For now, Ivan wanted to keep him safe, protected even from himself, but how long would that last?

"I think we are beyond such silly labels, da?" Ivan asked. His gaze shifted past Yao, to the last dredges of the sunset. "It _is_ a beautiful sunset, though. It reminds me of a huge sunflower, the sun at its center."

"Ivan…do you love me?" Yao asked, after a few moments of silence. His voice sounded confused and unsure to his own ears. Ivan's gaze slowly returned to Yao's. Yao flinched away, no longer able to stare at the other boy for very long in the eyes. Ivan seemed to like it—his inability to challenge him for very long.

"I don't love you. Love is useless—just a word. You belong to me, and so I take care of you. _That_ is a more solid thing than love."

"And if…if I love _you_?" Yao asked. Ivan smirked.

"Do you?" Ivan asked. The wind whipped at them angrily, but Ivan was heavy and firm-footed. Even though the gale tried to snatch and tug Yao over the edge, Ivan gripped him like a vice. The wind could pull all it wanted—in Ivan's grip he was as secure as a tree rooted to a mountain.

"I run away from you almost as fast as I run towards you. Is that love?" Yao asked. Ivan smirked.

"All that running, yet you go nowhere. Da, that is probably love. Like I said—useless. Now get off the fucking roof."

"Why couldn't I have been claimed by someone more charming?" Yao grumbled, as Ivan all but carried him back up the gentle slope towards the door that led to the stairs.

"Because Prince Charming didn't want to climb all those damned stairs and leave a perfectly heated building to stand in a rain storm." True to Ivan's cheery words, fat drops of rain were now assaulting the roof, and the two students who had been tempting fate by standing so close to the edge.

"Can we at least get some food before you drag me back to your filthy room?" Yao asked, in a perfectly polite tone of voice that just barely masked his annoyance.

"I am contemplating saying no, so you'll get even more pissy, and then we can fuck angry instead of soft," Ivan mused. Yao frowned, secretly thinking that the "fucking" as Ivan so crudely called it, was never truly _soft_.

"I _am _getting dinner-_máo zi_," Yao asserted, tacking on the ethnic slur against Russians just for the satisfaction. Ivan chuckled in that light-hearted, childish way of his.

"You're really fucking cute when you curse at me in Chinese, you know? Now you're just _trying_ to get me hard."

Yao rolled his eyes, even as he knew it was partially true. His cock twitched in his uniform trousers and he wondered if they'd even make it to the bedroom. As soon as the door closed safely behind them, blocking out the harsh wind, Ivan pushed him roughly against the surface and claimed his mouth.

'_No…we aren't going to make it. I just hope the janitor does not find us again, like last time,'_ Yao thought, before Ivan roughly palmed his erection and the ability to think at all fled from him.

USUK

It was the end of the final practice before the big game. The student council had prepared the posters and banners, the stadium was prepped, and the plays had been decided. Alfred's father arrived the next morning—Arthur's parents would be driving in that following evening for the game. In the midst of all this activity, Arthur did the same movement over and over again.

The drop, the smooth arch of leg, the almost gentle strike against the ball at the perfect, 45 degree angle, and the effortless follow-through: Arthur's so-called golden kick.

The coach patted his back warmly, looking at him as if he were a long-lost son instead of the unorthodox team mascot he had become earlier in the year. Even Berwald looked at Arthur differently. He seemed to actually _see_ him instead of see _over _him. The rest of the team was ecstatic. Visions of a win danced in their eyes, and the salvation of a rotten season floated just beyond their reach—Arthur's golden kick was just the extra length they needed to grab hold firmly of a victory.

At first, Alfred acted as though Arthur's glory was his own. After all, he was the talent scout who had discovered him—he'd brought him to Berwald like a faithful dog retrieving a ball, and now the whole team was thanking him instead of cursing him. But deep, deep down, a small seed of resentment burned.

He had trained _so_ hard the entire year. He'd pushed his body past limits he didn't even know he had. How many times had he left Arthur happily playing another level in their game or reading a new chapter of his newest sci-fi novel to go run laps with Ivan, who mocked and laughed at him as he lagged behind? How many times had he stood exactly where Arthur stood now, the ball falling from his own aching hands, to bounce awkwardly and ineffectually off his foot? He had fetched water bottles and taken sweaty towels to the face practice after practice, game after game, all without complaint. He had thrown everything he had against boys twice his size, grunted in pain and humiliation as they plowed over him as if he were nothing.

He'd compromised his morals to earn his jacket, performed cleaning duties all year as a consequence—and still been willing to sacrifice the jacket for Arthur; this was identical to the jacket now abandoned in the back of Arthur's closet, a mere afterthought to the disinterested prince.

He was glad Arthur was going to save their team and help them secure the win…had begged him to do so, even…but as he watched all his teammates crowd around Arthur at the end of practice, smiling and joking with him, just wanting to praise his effortless talent, Alfred felt his mood darken. For the first time, he slipped away from practice before the coach officially said it was over, and undressed alone in the locker room. His disappearing act went unnoticed by everyone.

Alfred tried to control his irrational temper, tried to will it away and remember that his new, amazing teammate was the same boy he made love to and snuggled with at night, but in his mind, they had become separate somehow.

There was his Arthur: prickly and just a little bit punk, always with his nose stuck in a book and something witty on his tongue, kisses ever at the ready. Then there was this new boy, who stepped onto the rugby field without even knowing the rules, who really couldn't care less, who claimed all the glory Alfred had fought so hard for without even trying.

"I'm being ridiculous!" Alfred scolded softly, as he harshly tugged off his helmet. Nerves about the game, resentment towards Arthur, worries about his father's visit—it all swirled around in his brain as if someone had flushed his mind like a toilet.

Petulantly, even a little babyishly, Alfred tossed his helmet and watched it bounce harmlessly across the locker room floor.

It wasn't very satisfying. He pulled off his pads, unlaced his pants and cleats, and left the gear in a sweaty, foul-smelling heap. He hit the back shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand. After a few more minutes of solitude, the other boys noisily entered, all singing Arthur's praises.

"You'll be the star player next year, Princess…err, I mean Arthur!"

"Man, your golden kick is gonna knock those stupid Falcons right out of the air," Mike's voice rang out boisterously.

"We're going to have an after-party once we win. You gotta come, Arthur!"

Alfred glared moodily at the tile wall of the shower. He'd gone to every game and practice, but the other guys had never invited _him_ to one of their parties.

"Alfred?" Arthur called out, at the entrance to the shower. Alfred stayed silent, pretending like he couldn't hear Arthur over the spray of the water and the loud voices of the team.

"Yeah, hey, where _did_ towel boy go? I need to give him my laundry," the old team Captain said casually. He'd been giving Alfred shit work to do all year, even though he wasn't in the games and was only playing during practice. Arthur had told Alfred not to do it for him—he'd made him feel like he was weak for caving to the other boy's demands.

"His _name_ is Alfred. He's been on your team all year, you know," Arthur replied back snippily. The old captain's laughter rang out loudly, assaulting Alfred's ears.

"Yeah, yeah…guess I should call him your butt boy instead of towel boy. Well, at least he did something right by finally bringing you to a practice."

Alfred balled up his fist angrily and punched it against the tile before slamming the water off, securing a towel around his waist, and storming out of the showers. He pushed past the ex-Captain roughly, making sure he caused him to stumble, and snatched up his gym bag.

"Alfred, _wait_!" Arthur said, struggling to escape his own pads and helmet, which Alfred usually helped him to remove.

"Aww, we hurt his feelings. He's probably gonna go hug his mommy now."

"Fuck, I wanna hug his mommy. I'd bend her over the president's desk and give her my weapon of mass destruction!" Mike joked crudely. Alfred stopped dead in the doorway.

"Alfred, let's just go," Arthur said bracingly. But it was no good. The sound of Arthur's voice only enraged Alfred further. The tense muscles in the taller boy's shoulders flexed. His fists curled. He dropped his gym bag and walked up to Mike with a slow calmness that Arthur now recognized—it was just how Alfred had acted before he beat Celio bloody.

"_Alfred_. He's your teammate. You all joke that way, all the time—he's not saying anything new. Let's just go."

Mike grinned cockily. "What's up, brace face? Got something to say to me?" Mike asked.

Alfred spared a quick, side-long glance at Arthur before his frown deepened.

"Yeah. I got something to say. I'm _not_ his butt-boy. I do the fucking. Oh, and one more thing: don't say another god-damned word about my mother, or I'll cripple you, you _fucking_ retard." Alfred's fist slammed forward, glancing off Mike's jaw as the other boy dodged reflexively to the side. Alfred stumbled off balance and fell hard when Mike slapped him on the back, driving him down to the ground. Alfred was back on his feet in a second, fists swinging again, and he managed another punch that cut Mike's brow, courtesy of the plain, silver cross ring Alfred wore on his right hand—a gift from his departed grandfather.

Mike cursed at him and swung back, punching Alfred hard in the shoulder and sending the thinner boy sprawling over a bench. The fight would have escalated, but Berwald intervened. It shocked nearly everyone, since the huge upperclassman usually stayed out of everything except the game. Now, he pushed Mike off roughly (with total ease) and pulled Alfred to his feet.

"Go after him," he said simply, indicating the door to the locker room that was still swinging restlessly from when Arthur had barreled through just second before. Dazed and hurt, Alfred pulled away roughly and stormed out, grabbing his bag as he did so.

He ducked into the restroom at the end of the hall and dressed, wincing at the difficulty he had in lifting his shoulder. Once he was dressed, his wet hair casting off droplets and his back stinging from the harsh slap he'd taken, Alfred stormed off to his room.

He'd never been so grateful that he hadn't fully moved back in with Arthur yet. Mostly it was because of a lack of time. Most of his clothes were back in Arthur's room, as well as his night things, but he'd just been too lazy to officially take all his things back over.

Now, he took great satisfaction in the fact that his things were mixed with Ivan's instead of Arthur's. He'd be perfectly happy if he didn't see Arthur the rest of the night. He slammed the door to his and Ivan's room shut with a fierce bang. He lucked out; Ivan must have been out with Yao. Alfred collapsed onto his bed with a huff—wincing when his back hit the mattress.

His mind was an angry hornet's nest, all stirred up and too busy to make any sense. He rolled onto his side with a loud, angry curse and let the anger hum away, till it distracted him from the pain and emotional upset.

Screw rugby. He was going to quit. Let Arthur win the stupid game—everyone could cheer him on until his ego exploded, but Alfred wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He'd go out with Ivan, instead. They'd get drunk and do stupid shit and Alfred would flirt with someone tall and ripped, and with _normal_ eyebrows.

'_Yeah, take _that_ Arthur. We'll see who's a butt boy!'_ His emotional, petty (and rather senseless) thoughts on the subject bounced around in his enraged mind, while the adrenaline and anger pumped through him hotly.

Meanwhile, Arthur had finally freed himself of the stupid football padding and the idiotic helmet, which had done everything to protect him from physical blows, and nothing at all to protect him from the beating his heart had just taken from the boy who had promised not to hurt him anymore.

**A/N: ***sigh* In case you started thinking of Alfred as all mature and adorable, here's your reality check, lol. But boys will be boys, no? Sorry this chapter started with penis molt and did a total 180 into angsty drama, but I wrote the first half last night, and the second half today, lol.


	33. The Last Rugby Game

Chapter 33

Alfred finally cooled down about an hour after the fight, and began to feel pretty rotten about it. He moped in his room for awhile, fully aware that he needed to apologize, but reluctant to do so because he knew it wasn't going to be pretty. He'd finally decided to seek some advice from Mattie when someone knocked briskly on the door.

Biting his lip nervously, Alfred opened the door and was not surprised to see Arthur frowning on the other side of it.

"I've decided to give you the opportunity to explain yourself before I dump your clothing in the hall…mostly because it's a pain to get all the wrinkles back out once I've done so and god knows _you_ won't be the one to hang them all properly again."

Alfred was momentarily distracted from his upset by Arthur's strange logic, but decided just to let it go. The key was that Arthur was willing to talk about it and didn't seem _quite_ as mad as Alfred had anticipated—nor, by the sound of it, was he about to be dumped.

"I'm sorry," he said, his sincerity showing in his eyes. Arthur entered the bedroom with a sigh, casting a disapproving glance over the general mess, the poorly hidden porn and booze, and the half-eaten food littered about.

"Alfred, this is awful. How can you _live_ like this?" Arthur asked, his nose scrunching up in distaste.

"Actually…this is pretty clean for us," Alfred mused, cracking a hesitant smile. Arthur didn't return it, however, clearly not in the mood to joke just yet. With a grimace, he removed a sweaty shirt from the armchair and sat carefully on the very edge. Alfred dropped onto the bed and hung his head low, his long bangs falling over his eyes.

"It goes without saying that you were being a prat and you humiliated me," Arthur said. Alfred winced and glanced up at the other boy curiously.

"I didn't expect you to come to talk about it," he said. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and frowned primly.

"Despite the fact that you occasionally open your mouth and say the _dumbest_ things, I find myself in the predicament of being in love with you," Arthur replied coolly. He didn't make it sound like a good thing. Alfred's eyebrows furrowed together.

"Err…" Alfred replied a little blankly. Arthur sighed, hesitated only a moment, and crossed to the bed. He sat beside Alfred and placed a gentle hand on the other boy's knee.

"I'm angry, but I love you. Don't you love me?" he asked simply. Alfred nodded emphatically.

"Of course I do! I just got angry, and it was a stupid thing to even be angry about, but I guess I was…"

"Jealous?" Arthur provided knowingly. Alfred winced, and reluctantly nodded.

"I simply can't understand why you get _so_ competitive about things, Alfred. You don't have anything to prove to anyone—least of all me. I was only trying to make you happy, and you turned it into a pissing contest."

"I'm sorry," Alfred said again, this time sheepishly. Arthur looked at him expectantly. Alfred shrugged a bit helplessly. "I'm really really sorry?" he tried. Arthur sighed.

"I want you to talk about your feelings," Arthur hinted, with the patience of a saint. Alfred's face screwed up in confusion.

"Didn't I just do that?" he asked.

"_Why_ were you jealous?" Arthur ground out, his grip on Alfred's knee tightening in warning.

"Oh! Well you don't even like rugby…but you're so good…and all the guys respect that."

"I don't care what they think of me. It makes no difference to me whether they're calling me Princess and giving me noogies in the hallway or sucking up and inviting me to their parties. With the exception of Berwald, they're all idiots. I only tolerate them because, for some inexplicable reason, _you_ consider them friends."

"I _get_ that you don't care what other people think, alright? But we can't all be like that. _I_ can't be like that. I care about what they think, and I care about what my dad will think, and, honestly, it kinda bugs me that you _don't _care."

Arthur blinked in surprise.

"Well it bugs me that you _do_. It makes you do stupid things," Arthur said, a little defensively.

"Not caring makes you do stupid things, too. I think your pierced nipple and a video on the internet with over a million views is proof of that."

Arthur stood, his hands settling firmly on his hips.

"You're really _thick_ sometimes, you know that? None of that happened because I didn't care—it happened because I cared _too_ much! I cared that you didn't want me! You just proved _my _point!"

Alfred stood now, too, using his height to frown down at Arthur.

"So…you're telling me you care about what _I_ think, just not what anyone else thinks, but that _I_ shouldn't care about what everyone else thinks about me. Is that it? But wait—let me guess. I should still care what _you _think. It's just your opinion is the only one that should matter," Alfred concluded. Arthur scowled.

"You make me sound like a terrible person just because I want you to care about my feelings! We're _supposed_ to care about each other's feelings. We're _dating_. Last time I checked, you weren't dating the rugby team!"

Alfred sat back down in a huff, scowling harshly.

"I don't even know what we're arguing about anymore," he grumbled.

"No! I'm _not_ letting this go! You said you needed time—that was the reason you broke my heart—and that time was supposed to be for you to figure out that what everyone else thought about you being gay doesn't bloody matter!"

"I didn't think it through that much! I just felt too freakin' pressured!"

"Exactly! You wouldn't feel so pressured if you stopped trying so hard to be liked by everyone!"

"What does me getting jealous of you have to do with me being gay? You're not making any sense," Alfred growled. Arthur looked like he was on the verge of pulling his hair out. For a moment, he simply stood clenching his fists and glaring stubbornly at Alfred.

Abruptly, he grabbed one of Alfred's practically empty notebooks and a pen he found nearby.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked, his curiosity overriding his temper.

"I'm drawing you a diagram," Arthur said primly. Alfred stared blankly. He blinked.

"Are you serious?" he asked. Arthur just shot him a pointed glare, and went back to his task.

"There. Now _look_, Alfred," Arthur said, holding up the paper. In the center, there was a large circle that said inside, "Alfred's Insecurities." Little lines branched off it that led to smaller circles that said things like "Uncomfortable Being Gay," "Unnecessarily Competitive," "Body Issues," and "Too Susceptible to Peer Pressure."

Alfred stared at the diagram for a long moment in silence, while Arthur waited breathlessly, wondering if Alfred would finally _get_ it.

After what felt like an eternity, Alfred swallowed thickly and stood, head hung low. When he spoke, his voice was thick with hurt.

"Alright, Arthur. You win, okay? You're right. I was wrong and I'm stupid. Just take your flowchart and go. I wanna be alone," Alfred said.

Arthur realized instantly he'd taken it too far. He crumbled up the paper—had he _really_ just written out all the other boy's flaws on paper just to win a silly argument?—and tried to backtrack.

"I shouldn't have—"

"Just go," Alfred said.

"But Alfred…" Arthur practically begged.

"You _win_ okay! I feel like crap, and I don't know what else you want to get out of this, but I don't want to talk anymore, so just _leave_!"

Feeling like he had no other choice, Arthur left, his shoulders slumped and regret written all over his face. At the doorway, he paused, glancing backwards.

"Are we…breaking up?" he asked hollowly.

"I don't know," Alfred said, still sounding incredibly hurt. After a painful moment of silence he added, "Or was that just another question you already knew the answer to, and now you're going to draw me another diagram?" The tears Alfred had been trying so hard to hold in check were now flowing freely down his cheeks. Arthur was surprised to realize he was crying just as hard as Alfred was.

"Fine…I'll just go," he said. He waited for Alfred to stop him, but the other boy merely rubbed at his eyes before walking quickly into the adjoining bathroom and shutting the door.

USUK

The locker room was completely silent. The players dressed in their gear without looking at each other, all of them focused inward as they prepared for the game ahead. The more obnoxious team members were already out in the stands—it was only the second string players preparing in the locker room. Both Alfred and Arthur had shown up—they even sat on the same bench, but they didn't share a word. They hadn't spoken since the following night.

Finally, when everyone was dressed, Berwald made his way to the front of the locker room. The coach emerged from his office, a clipboard in hand, looking stone-faced. The coach began his standard, pre-game pep talk.

"It's not going to be an easy game, men. They're faster than us. They're bigger, too. They're televising the game, and the stands are full of reporters and recruiters. For some of you, this game will determine your scholarship opportunities." The coach glanced at Berwald, who nodded briefly, ever stoic, in reply. Alfred felt his mouth go dry with nerves.

"Some of you never even thought you'd play this season. You were called on because you had character. You proved you had heart by going out there, loss after loss, and still giving it your all. I'm not gonna lie—this has been the worst season I've ever coached on paper. But you know what? I will _never_ forget this team. You boys—all of you—have worked your butts off this year and you've made me remember that it's not the size of the dog in the fight, but it's the size of the fight in the dog. Nobody expects us to win this game—not a single person in those stands. But you know what? I think they're wrong. I think _this_ game—_this_ battle—will be your glory. You've all got heart…and now we've got Arthur."

Everyone was surprised when Arthur suddenly stood, his slightly too-big helmet clutched in his hands.

"That's not entirely right. I _shouldn't_ be here. Everything the coach just said about you all is true—I know, because I've watched Alfred kill himself all year for this team, and for a sport that he loves. I'm not one of you, and I don't deserve the opportunity to play with you just because I can kick a ball. I've never been someone who cares if I win or lose—I've never even cared what other people thought of me at all…but seeing you all play so hard this season—seeing _Alfred_ put his everything in this—makes me _want_ to care. I don't deserve to play with you, but I ask that you do me the honor anyway. We _will_ win this game—together—but it won't be my victory. It will be entirely yours; and no victory will have ever been more deserved. No team ever had so much heart and dedication as I have seen from you. I'm very proud to be your biggest fan."

Arthur's eyes never left Alfred's throughout his entire speech. Alfred's cheeks were warm with color, because it was fairly obvious that while Arthur was speaking to everyone, he was really speaking to Alfred. The moment hung between them, a fragile peace-offering, and Alfred finally gave Arthur a shaky smile.

Berwald cleared his throat.

"I don't do speeches. J'st go out there and tear those F'lcons out of the sky!" Berwald shouted, pumping his helmet into the air. His team roared in approval, and they surged off the benches en masse, ready for battle. The locker room doors opened and in the hallway beyond, the faint echoes of lively band music could be heard. The stadium was packed, and the noise of roughly 5,000 people could be heard as they stomped their feet against the metal stands, a frenzy of anticipation.

The last two out, Arthur made a sudden grab for Alfred's hand.

"This is ridiculous, but..I'm nervous," Arthur said, surprised by the realization that he had become so emotionally invested. Alfred's blue eyes softened, and as the doors swung shut, leaving them alone in the locker room, Alfred leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially.

"Well, a really cute friend of mine used to have some special pills that make you play better, but it turned out they were just vitamins. He did say something that stuck with me, though. As long as you give it everything you have out there—I'll still be really, _really_ proud of you."

Arthur smiled at the memories and glanced up at Alfred through his thick lashes. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you, love," he said. Alfred just smiled and kissed him sweetly, lovingly on the lips.

"Sometimes the truth can hurt…but it needed to be said. I'm going to work on it, okay?"

"I love you, Alfred. So, _so_ much," Arthur said. Alfred grinned.

"Yeah, I heard…you're my biggest fan, huh?" he asked. Too emotional to even joke, Arthur just nodded and threw his arms around Alfred's neck, hugging him tightly. Alfred returned the embrace with an affectionate smile, and pressed a kiss to Arthur's messy hair. Pulling back, he took Arthur's helmet from his hands and slid it over his head, buckling the strap in place. Grabbing the grill, he pulled the other boy's face close to his own.

"I'll keep you safe out there, okay? Love ya, babe." Alfred pecked the grill protecting Arthur's face and winked at him playfully. "But we better go, or we're gonna miss the game!"

Grinning, Arthur followed Alfred out into the hallway, with a very half-hearted, "For the thousandth time, what have I told you about those silly—" Arthur fell silent abruptly and glanced down in surprise when he felt Alfred take his hand and lace their fingers together. He glanced unsurely at Alfred, but realized by the steely glint of determination in the other boy's blue eyes, that Alfred didn't plan on letting go of his hands when they entered the stadium.

"But…Alfred…the stadium is packed with reporters, and your father is out there…"

Alfred flashed a carefree smile that only just barely managed to hide his nervousness.

"I'm working on that whole not caring so much thing, remember? But what about you? You ready for this?"

Beaming in happiness, Arthur briskly shook his head in agreement. The two of them walked the long stretch of hallway and emerged into the glare of flashing cameras and stadium lights, still hand in hand.

USUK

"There they are! Oh, wow!" Matthew said, pointing towards the home team entrance that the rest of the players had burst through just moments before.

"Are they…holding hands?" Francis asked, squinting against the glare of lights.

"Woah, the reporters are going crazy," Patty commented. She, as well as several other Hero Club and student council members, sat near Francis and Matthew—Arthur and Alfred's unofficial cheering squad. Down on the field, the press had forgotten all about using their zoom lenses to snap photos of the President and the First Lady, who had arrived in London just in time for the game (without Alfred's knowledge), as well as the royal family, who sat not too far away from President and First Lady Jones in the stands. They began snapping hundreds of pictures of Alfred and Arthur instead. The stadium was crawling with students, the entirety of the staff, and what felt like the whole American CIA.

All of those people present, and _every_ eye in the stadium was turned to Alfred and Arthur, whose linked hands gave the first solid evidence to the rumors that had been floating around in both their respective countries for weeks.

"This is crazy! You'd think they were ripping each other's clothes off down there," Emily said, hoisting her own poster for Arthur up in the air. The noise level in the stadium had risen to a near deafening level.

"Do their parents know?" Elizabeta asked. She had come with Roderich, who seemed more interested in the marching band's performance than with the arrival of the 'it' couple.

"They told Arthur's parents earlier this week. Alfred's parents know he's gay, but they didn't know who he was dating. Guess they do now," Mattie said, a little impressed by Alfred's courage. Ivan, were he allowed to attend sporting events, would have been proud to see his friend being so bold. As it was, he and Yao were curled up in the dorm room, watching the game on local television and smirking in amusement at Alfred's chosen way of "coming out."

The crazy kid never did anything by half—that was for sure.

Up further in the stands, President Jones was careful to keep a perfectly composed smile on his face. He leaned towards Helen, his shiny white teeth still showing.

"At least it's not the Russian kid," he said. Mirroring his expression, Helen waved smoothly to the reporters barricaded off a few stands below, trying to catch their reactions to the arrival.

"Who would have thought _our_ Alfred would have the balls to do something like this?" she asked, speaking through her own fake smile, but with a hint of pride coloring her tone. President Jones grinned slightly.

"You just like that he's being dramatic about it—he gets that from _you_."

"Maybe," she replied with a mischievous quirk to her lips.

Several rows over and down a few, Mary beamed at the sight of Alfred holding her son's hand as they walked to their side of the field.

"Alfred is _such_ a cute boy. I was sad it didn't work out with Francis, but Arthur's chosen well," she said. Prince George rolled his eyes.

"You're far too interested in our children's love lives," he said. "They're only fifteen—don't get so attached."

"Yeah, mum, stop nagging about our love lives," Patrick chorused. He'd come in for the game as well, as had Colin. Dylan had been suspiciously busy with "previously made arrangements."

"_You_ need a serious girlfriend! You've been wild and had your fun. I worry that you're not settled. I can't convince Arthur to slow down, and I can't convince you to speed up," Mary fretted. Her rambunctious red-head grinned cheekily at her.

"Who said I'm looking for a _girlfriend_?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows. Mary rolled her eyes.

"You've been wild, but not _that_ wild. You're not like Arthur. He's special," she said. Colin laughed good-naturedly.

"I'm glad you weren't this obvious about who was your favorite when we were all growing up," he teased. Mary swatted at him, though her warm eyes were mildly apologetic.

"Mum just likes Arthur so much 'cause she didn't think she was ever going to have a daughter, but then Arthur came along," Patrick teased. Surprising them all, George snorted in amusement. He coughed quickly, though, to cover the sound.

"Patrick, don't tease your brother," he scolded sternly. Mary rolled her eyes.

"Fat lot of good that does. This is why I've had to baby him—you all give him _such_ a hard time, and he's really very—" Colin cut Mary off knowingly.

"Sensitive. We _know_. He brings it on himself, though, mum. He just walked out into a stadium filled with thousands of people holding another boy's hand," Colin pointed out dryly. Mary, however, just smiled.

"He's romantic, my Arthur. I _do_ hope he plays well. He's really too small for rugby. I wonder why he didn't join the fencing team, or tennis?" she mused. Patrick and Colin shared a grin.

"Because _Alfred Jones_ isn't on the _tennis_ team, mum," Patrick replied. "And he's just _so_ dreamy. I'm thinking about getting braces and glasses. It's what all the teenage girls are into these days," Patrick joked. Colin slapped the back of his younger brother's head roughly.

"Why are you chasing after teenage girls, huh? Pervert!"

"Where's your wife? You hit me less when she's around," Patrick growled back, shoving Colin in retaliation for the hit. Mary rolled her eyes skyward, as if pleading for patience, and George just shook his head.

"There are cameras _everywhere_, boys. _Please_ behave," Mary said. Patrick stuck his tongue out at his older brother. After a quick glance to make sure George wasn't watching, Colin stuck his tongue out, too.

"Can't we just watch the game in peace? Like a normal family?" George asked with a wry glance at Colin that let him know he'd been caught. Colin and Patrick grinned sheepishly, temporarily cowed.

The game was about to start, and the players headed out onto the field.

USUK

If the reporters were hoping for a show, they certainly got one. If President Jones had any recognizable flaw, it was that he was a fiercely competitive man—and he didn't bother to hide it. Perhaps it was more accurate to say he didn't even have the ability.

"COME ON! GET ON THE BALL, AL! HUSTLE! HUSTLE!"

"Darling, he can't hear you—you're just giving the tabloids fodder for—" Helen warned, but she was cut off by her husband swiping the baseball hat off his head (an action which revealed that he was so good-looking he was even immune to hat hair) and waved the hat angrily at the field.

"GET ON THAT BALL! CHRIST!Do you _see_ this, Helen? He's so god-damned close and then he—"

"Alfred's always cracked under pressure, dear. I don't know why it's surprising you now."

"ALFRED! COME ON! I COULD HAVE CAUGHT THAT BLINDFOLDED!"

"Do you _really_ have to scream so loudly? Alfred can't hear you, and I'm going deaf. _Please_ sit down."

Finally, her husband complied with a huff of irritation.

"_Christ_! We gotta get him into a decent football camp. He's _finally_ hit a growth spurt, but what good is the perfect physique if you run like a crippled kid?"

"I'm going to just pretend I didn't hear that, and I'm going to pray none of the reporters can read lips," Helen replied. Her husband's aggressiveness clearly put her in a foul mood. "I hate sports. I wouldn't have even come, but Alfred is so upset with me. He sent me an e-mail earlier this week and it didn't have any of those retarded smiley faces in it—not a single one."

Her husband glanced at her in surprise. "I know you said you had a fight, but Jesus, Helen, what did you _say_ to the kid? Alfred doesn't write anything without those stupid little faces. Hell, if his English teacher asked him what a colon was for, he'd probably tell her it was a set of eyes."

"I was actually trying to be _nice_ for once. He's just _so _gay. He gets overly emotional about everything I say and he's got horrible mommy issues," Helen said. Her husband snorted in dark amusement.

"Save that quote and give it to PFLAG—they're gonna just _love_ you," he quipped sarcastically, referring to the very supportive advocacy group mostly run by the parents of gay and lesbian children.

"Oh shut the hell up, Dick," she replied snippily.

"I hate it when you call me that. It's _Richard_."

"And _because _you hate it is exactly why I call you that…_Dick_. Oh! Alfred's got the ball! That's good, right?" Helen asked. Instantly, Richard was back on his feet, yelling and waving his arms like a madman.

"YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! TURN AROUND! TURN AROUND!"

Amused by the whole thing, Helen smirked. Richard smacked a hand over his face and dragged it downwards dramatically. The score was tied, mostly due to Arthur's talent, but Alfred was screwing up at every available opportunity.

"Are you ready to admit defeat now?" Helen asked with a simpering smile. Richard scowled.

"I'll make an athlete of him yet—I'll get the best damn coach money can buy!"

"I think you should just let it go and admit that he'd make a much better model. I've been telling you for years he'd grow out of the awkward phase—just look at him. _I_ had an awkward phase, too, you know. Of course, it was short and I stayed indoors until it passed—but Alfred got my looks. He belongs on a runway."

"Helen, I can handle having a gay son, but I won't let you prance him down a runway in that Prada crap. He's _gonna_ play football. It's a Jones family tradition. We had this argument when he was three and my decision hasn't changed."

"_Such_ a waste. Alfred was an adorable baby. He would have kicked that Gerber kid right off the damn can. Oh, I think he's going the wrong way again."

"God _damn_ it! Does the kid have mushy peas for brains? But look at that Arthur kid—now _there's_ an athlete. He's a natural. Too small, though."

"Is this thing almost over?" Helen asked. Down on the field, Alfred was breathing hard as he slouched into the huddle for what would be the last play of the game. Berwald didn't bother telling Alfred all the mistakes he was making. He just grunted the name of the next play.

Able to _feel_ Alfred's frustration, Arthur gently touched the other boy's arm.

"It's even worse 'cause my dad's here. I _swear_ I can hear him yelling," Alfred said, glancing up in the stands where he knew his father was sitting. Arthur glanced up briefly, too, spotting Patrick's red hair.

"My mum's here, you know. Your dad may be yelling, but my mum is out there cheering like crazy for you. I'm cheering for you, too. Just relax and try to have fun," Arthur said. Alfred nodded, and seemed to take the message to heart.

"Are you okay? Not too rough?" he asked.

"I'll be sore tomorrow, but I'm okay," Arthur replied. Alfred flashed him a bright smile. Little did they both know that the other team was desperately revising their strategy.

"We gotta take out the kicker. He's carrying the whole team. Without him, the Captain can't do anything," the opposing Captain stressed. A plan was quickly made, and the teams squared off.

The play began, and like usual, Arthur scurried backwards away from the scuffle, trying to stay far away from any contact, but this time it seemed one particularly large boy was determined to tackle him—penalty or no. He darted to the side, managed to get around him, but it put him out of position. He was running down the field, making himself a legitimate target. Racing like a gazelle down the field ahead of him, Alfred glanced backwards in search of the ball and saw Arthur's predicament instead.

He glanced up again, and finally spotted the pass. He continued to run, his arms open, knowing the ball was spiraling perfectly down to his arms—but just behind him Arthur was about to be tackled without mercy.

Alfred didn't even hesitate. He caught the ball, but let it drop to the ground. He changed directions at the last possible moment, not even hearing the ball thud against the ground behind him. He sprinted forward, just like in practice, and threw all his weight forward against the mountain of a boy baring down on Arthur. Their bodies collided furiously, and Arthur found himself perfectly safe despite the other team's underhanded intentions. There wasn't so much as a scratch on him.

Thinking Alfred had made the catch, however, the other team piled up on him mercilessly. Arthur was torn. On one hand, the ball was sitting wide open just a few yards ahead of him, just waiting to be scooped up and carried to the goal. On the other, Alfred had just locked helmets with a boy nearly two feet bigger than him and four times as big around. Arthur couldn't even _see_ him under the tangle of limbs. Alfred would want him to go for the score…but Arthur was simply too concerned to care about the silly game.

He doubled back to the pile-up, even as Berwald barreled down the field, retrieved his own pass, and carried it the rest of the way to score a goal and break the tie for World Academy. Oblivious to where the ball was, the other team didn't realize the point had been scored as the last seconds ticked down.

"Alfred!" Arthur called, pushing at the opponents until he saw his bruised and bloodied boyfriend.

"Where am I?" Alfred asked weakly. His eyes were unfocused a moment, and Alfred reached for him weakly before he feinted. As the World Academy side of the stadium erupted in applause and cheering for Berwald, a medical team came sprinting onto the field. Out of respect, everyone in the stands, on both sides, stood silently for the fallen player when they realized what had happened.

"Get back! Give him some air!" The medics loaded Alfred onto a stretcher and carried him off field, Arthur jogging along anxiously at his side.

**A/N:** This was a _very_ fun chapter. However, I took a LOT of liberties with the sport of rugby. For starters, most players don't wear hard helmets, but I like the look of them on boys so that's what they're wearing. Also, the scenario I described in the end probably would never happen in an actual game. I claim creative license. :P

Oh, and a reviewer or two thought the sex was a little rushed. I really was intending to hold off longer, but because of other stuff I planned, it just made sense for it to go there. After all, the other guys on the team couldn't tease Alfred and Arthur about sex and it hit Alfred so hard if the sex wasn't happening yet. So…that's my flimsy justification for caving early, lol.

As usual, thank you SO much for reviews! I hope you liked the glimpse of their families, and the resolution of their fight!


	34. Helen Meets her Match

Chapter 34

It was determined that Alfred should be taken to the emergency room, and only because his parents were stuck in the huge swarm of people in the stands, Arthur was the one who got to ride with him in the ambulance.

"So we've got the American President's kid here, right?" the paramedic asked with a friendly smile. "And you're Prince Arthur, huh?"

"Yes. He took a tackle from a huge player—"

"Yeah, we saw. We've been watching the game up front. Your boyfriend here isn't a very good rugby player, is he?" the paramedic joked, as they removed Alfred's padding and helmet. Arthur fumbled with his own helmet, realizing belatedly that he still had it on.

"He's just…a little awkward. He'll get it eventually," Arthur defended. "Why did he pass out?" Arthur asked, feeling cramped and terrified for Alfred's wellbeing.

"Likely a concussion," the paramedic pulled one of Alfred's eye lids back and waved a small flashlight over his blue orb. It responded to the light, and Alfred began to blink in alarm.

"Artie?" he asked, his speech slurred.

"That's a good sign. The longer they're unconscious, the more severe the concussion, typically." Arthur wormed his hand past the paramedic and gave Alfred's hand a comforting squeeze.

"I'm here, love," he said.

"Try to keep him talking. See if we can determine if there's memory loss."

"Memory loss?" Arthur asked in alarm. On the gurney, Alfred was wincing away from bright lights that weren't actually shining. Looking highly concerned, Arthur leaned over him, into his line of sight.

"Alfred, do you remember what happened?"

"Did you punch me?" he asked. "I know…you were mad…but _damn_!"

"I didn't punch you! Good grief, you took a tackle from the Falcon's biggest player…to protect me," he added, an exasperated smile fighting past his look of worry. Arthur brushed Alfred's bangs off his forehead tenderly.

"Are'ya still…mad…at…do I have skin?"

"Yeah…he's got a concussion. He might sound a bit loopy for a few hours. Just keep talking to him," the paramedic advised with a small grin.

Highly disturbed, Arthur returned his attention to Alfred.

"Err…yes, love…you still have skin. Are you…err…feeling okay?"

"Artie? Artie? Artie, where are you?"

"Alfred, I'm right here," Arthur said.

"What…what are you wearing?" Alfred asked, sounding highly confused.

"Rugby gear. We were just playing in the game, remember?"

"What game?" Alfred asked. Arthur held back an exasperated sigh.

"The rugby game, love. Your parents flew in, and mine came, too. We won—I think."

"Yeah, you kids won. Congratulations," the paramedic said. "We're almost to the hospital. We'll get him a Head CT just as soon as we get there," he added.

"I dun need another head…I've already _got_ a head…Artie, Artie tell him I've got a head. Artie, I do…still have a head, right?"

"Yes, Alfred, you still have a head," Arthur comforted. Just then, Alfred rolled half-heartedly to his side and puked all over Arthur. He wiped the sick off his mouth and blinked confusedly at the mess he'd made.

"See? I gots a head. I just puked out of it."

"Yes, love…I'm aware of that," Arthur replied thinly. Rather uselessly, the paramedic extended a towel.

"Nausea—symptom of the concussion."

"Lovely," Arthur replied, wiping ineffectually at the stain.

"Now we're even! You…you puked on my suit last night," Alfred said, grinning as if proud of his achievement.

"Last night? What? Oh…he's talking about the holiday ball. That was nearly two months ago," Arthur said.

"He's just confused on his timeline right now. Hopefully, he'll become a little clearer in a few hours. Ah, here we are. I'm going to ask you to slide over there," the paramedic instructed. Arthur moved where he was supposed to and the ambulance pulled to a stop in front of the emergency room. Skillfully, the paramedic driving the ambulance and the one who had ridden with Alfred in the back unloaded the stretcher and wheeled Alfred quickly inside. Arthur struggled out of his soiled pads, stripping down to just the white T-shirt he wore underneath, and left the bulky padding alongside Alfred's in the ambulance.

Probably due to his fame, Alfred was admitted instantly and was taken straight to the room where they'd perform his scan. This was completed fairly quickly, and Alfred was already being set up in a hospital room as his parents and Arthur's parents arrived.

For a few moments, it was pure chaos.

"Is the poor dear alright? This is _exactly_ why I detest rugby! It's just _too_ rough," Mary fretted.

"Mrs. Kirkland?" Alfred asked confusedly. Before she could respond, Alfred's parents distracted him. His father filled up his vision, peering at him curiously.

"Son…son…that was the _worst_ game of rugby I have ever seen in my life. How's your head?"

"Dad?" Alfred asked, appearing highly confused by the fact that now his parents were looming over him.

"Oh, Alfred, you look terrible. Your head is going to need stitches…it's close to your hairline, though, so hopefully the scarring won't be too visible," Helen commented.

"Mom?" Alfred said weakly. He kept wincing, as if someone was repeatedly blinding him with a bright light.

"Have they done a Head CT yet? Patrick had a concussion when he was twelve—"

"I was ten, mum," Patrick argued.

"He's confused and he's got a terrible headache, so you all just need to shut up!" Arthur roared, temporarily restoring calm. He returned to Alfred's side, and gently took the other boy's hand.

"Alfred, the nurse will be in here soon to stitch up the cut on your head. Your parents are here now, so I'm going to go to the waiting room—"

"Don't! Don't leave, Artie, please. I know I made you mad but I'll fix it, okay? Jus'…don't leave," Alfred begged. He sounded so confused and pathetic that nobody had the heart to argue with him. Only two people, however, could stay in the room.

"You stay with him, Helen. You're better at this sort of thing…not by much…but better than me, at any rate. Just keep me posted," Richard said. Helen rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dick. If he pukes on me…" she trailed off warningly.

Arthur shot her a scowl.

"I think that should be the last thing you're concerned about right now. His brain could be bleeding for all you know," Arthur snapped angrily.

"Arthur…" Mary said nervously, eyeing the way Helen's eyes hardened coldly as she stared down her perfect nose at Arthur.

"Go on now, all of you out. So many people in here is just confusing Alfred. God knows that's easy enough to do on a good day, much less when he's concussed," Helen said coolly.

"Helen…" Richard said, mirroring Mary's warning tone. The well-wishers backed out of the room rather nervously all the same, eyeing the two forces of nature on either side of Alfred's bed as if they might spring forward and viscously attack each other at any moment.

"Arthur! My junk is itching! Matthew said it's the molt!" Alfred blurted out, breaking the tension. Helen looked down at Alfred in total confusion. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat at his bedside, gently taking Alfred's hand in his own.

"You're just a little confused, Alfred. That was last week. Matthew was just playing a practical joke."

"How _is_ Matthew? I must admit, I'm a little surprised. Richard and I were expecting Matthew to be the one dating our son. After all, they seemed so _close_ over Christmas break. I was rather fond of him—such a sweet, quiet boy," Helen mused. Arthur shot her a simpering smile.

"A pushover, you mean to say? No, they _are_ close friends, but Alfred and I are _quite_ happy together."

Helen grinned—it was the grin of a girl who had been queen bee all her life, who had money, fame, good fortune and success as a rule rather than the exception. It was a grin almost as ruthless as it was cold and calculating.

"Well, it's _so_ adorable that you fancy yourself in love with my son, but you _are_ a little young. These things don't last very long at your age," she said, sitting in the small chair next to Alfred's bed and crossing her long legs elegantly. "So I'll still hold out hope for Matthew," she added, rather cruelly. Arthur scowled.

"Err…Artie? This is my mom. Mom…this is my boyfriend," Alfred said, seeming to lapse into clarity for a single moment. Arthur glanced at him with a look of fond exasperation before frowning once more at Helen.

"We've met before, love. The pleasure is _all_ mine," Arthur said, sarcasm obvious. Helen just smirked.

USUK

Aside from the stitches, the head scan revealed that Alfred had a minor concussion and no other injuries beyond the bumps and bruises. Though the hospital was a little reluctant to release him until he was perfectly lucid, considering who he was, a short four hours later he was being discharged with the instructions not to do any strenuous exercise, and that if he fell asleep, someone should wake him up every few hours and talk to him a bit to make sure he was functioning normally.

Jetlagged as they were, Helen and Richard checked into a hotel and Helen reluctantly left this duty to Arthur.

Alfred had slowly regained more clarity, and by the time they reached the dorm, he was walking fine and seemed to remember who he was and what had happened recently.

"That was…crazy," Alfred said. He still sounded incredibly sleepy. His arm was draped over Arthur's shoulders, and the smaller boy was using it as an excuse to cuddle against Alfred's side. Arthur was exhausted and irritable, and he'd be perfectly happy if he never saw Helen Jones ever again.

"Your mother was horrid," Arthur complained, rather petulantly. Alfred sighed, but he gave Arthur's shoulders a loving squeeze.

"She was just playing games with you and trying to tear you down—it's what she does when she feels threatened," Alfred replied. Arthur blinked in surprise.

"I think the concussion might have made you smarter," he said. Alfred grinned.

"I think so, too. I'm probably a genius now. Quick. Ask me something."

"What's the square root of 144?"

"Err...never mind," Alfred replied with a chuckle. Arthur stretched onto his toes and kissed Alfred's cheek.

"You're _not_ dumb. It's 12, though, for future reference."

"I know she can be…difficult…at times, but try not to fight with her too much while she's here, okay? I love you like crazy, and nothing she says is going to change that. She'll warm up to you eventually. I think it's just weird for my parents seeing how much I've changed this year. They're gonna need some time to adjust," Alfred said logically.

"…_fine_." Arthur agreed, with a pouty frown. Alfred smiled charmingly at him and stole a kiss.

"Thank you, Artie. I love you," he said.

"I love you, too…even though you puked on me and passed out leaving me trapped in a room with your mother for four hours. She made fun of my eyebrows, _and_ she heavily implied that I had split ends, I'll have you know," Arthur grumbled. For once, he was the one who sounded adorably insecure. Grinning, Alfred opened their door and stumbled gratefully towards the bed. He toed off his shoes and collapsed, his silky blond hair splaying over the pillow and his long arms stretching out all akimbo.

"Thinking 'bout your eyebrows in history the other day got me totally hard. You're so cute when you get all angry and you scrunch them up and frown—like a little storm cloud or something."

"I'm going to just pretend that's the concussion still talking," Arthur said, undressing down to his briefs before crawling into bed next to Alfred. He set the alarm on his phone and let his green eyes drift shut. Alfred's arm curled around his shoulders, loving and protective.

They'd officially survived the rugby season, and coming out to their parents, as impossible as both things had seemed. Both of them had definitely earned their three hours of worry-free sleep.

USUK

Lunch the following day was a completely weird affair. Alfred's father had insisted on taking him and his school friends out to lunch, to meet them all, and Alfred had _insisted_ that Ivan come, too. It was the first time he'd _ever_ stood up to his father, and watching the exchange was enough to make Arthur have a nervous breakdown.

"Alright, everyone ready to head out to lunch?" Richard asked, surveying the rag-tag group assembled outside the gates of the school. Alfred had cleared his throat.

"Not yet. Ivan and Yao aren't here yet. I told them earlier and they said they'd be able to make it."

"They might have gotten busy with other plans, dear. I'm sure they wouldn't want to hold everyone up," Helen simpered. Alfred turned his brand new look of determination on his mother.

"We're _waiting_ for them, or we're not going at all."

"Alfred! That's quite a tone to take with us, considering we've flown all this way and—"

"Mom, it'd be really rude to leave them here after I invited them. You wouldn't want to be rude, right?" Alfred said. Inwardly, Arthur was cheering like crazy for him. He couldn't quite hold back the victorious little smirk that he shot at Helen. Richard seemed torn between upset that his wife and son were bickering, and pride that Alfred was actually standing up to her for once.

"Well, here they come now, so that solves that, I suppose," Richard announced, drawing attention to the approach of Ivan and Yao. Their arrival made their group eight in total—Francis and Matthew, Ivan and Yao, Alfred and Arthur, and Alfred's parents.

"So is Yao your only girl friend, kiddo?" Richard asked. Luckily, Ivan and Yao had not quite come within hearing range.

"_Dad_…Yao's a dude," Alfred informed, embarrassed for his father's mistake. Matthew hid a giggle behind his hand and Francis grinned.

"Gotcha. Okay, well…no buddies from the rugby team?" Richard asked. Arthur and Francis exchanged a glance, as if saying '_Is this guy for real?'_ His distaste for the friends Alfred had made was painfully obvious.

Helen, however, was giving Matthew so much attention that it was starting to freak him out.

"I love your outfit, dear. Not just anyone can carry Christian Lacroix," she praised. Matthew blushed, glancing demurely at Francis, who seemed to be equally interested in Helen.

"Um…I borrowed it from Francis, actually. He knows a lot about designers. I don't really know all that much by comparison," Matthew said bashfully. Helen smiled beautifully at him and Matthew was made uncomfortable by how intently she was staring at him. She certainly hadn't seemed so interested in him over Christmas break.

"Then you have a good eye, and an excellent stylist. Do you do your own hair?" she asked.

"Helen, they're _supposed_ to be teenage boys. Can you give it a rest? You're embarrassing the poor kid," Richard complained. Helen glanced at him sharply before turning her angelic smile back on Matthew.

"Just ignore him, dear. He's really very uncultured—he has no appreciation for the fashion world."

"Such a shame. It is truly the most beautiful and innovative art form we have today," Francis said. Helen's attention shifted to him, her eyes lighting up at his accent, and Matthew sighed a bit in relief. Yao and Ivan finally reached them, and Helen and Francis's fashion discussion extended into the car ride—the spoke in French, thankfully, sparing the rest of them from the tedious topic (except Matthew, who _pretended_ like he didn't understand so he didn't shift Helen's creepy focus back on himself).

While Helen and Francis lost themselves in name dropping and a discussion of French fashion, Richard finally got the chance to catch up with his son.

"So about that game…" Richard began. Alfred smiled in a way that was obviously fake and tried to shift the topic.

"I bet you wanna know how I met everyone! Well, I joined student council and that's where—"

"We gotta get you in a good football camp this summer, son. You were awful out there. What the heck was going through your head?" Richard asked. "Right before the half-time—"

"Oh! When he fumbled that pass at the goal line? Your dad is right, Alfred. That was bad—even for _you_," Ivan said. Richard's eyes flashed to the huge boy challengingly.

"We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Richard—you can call me Mr. Jones, though."

"I am Ivan. Nice to meet you…Dick," Ivan replied. "That is the American way of shortening that name, is it not? You Americans have such interesting naming customs. You see, when I was learning English, I was taught that dick was what you called your—"

"I'd prefer Mr. Jones," Richard replied, with a smile that was obviously displeased. Ivan just smiled cheerily. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a nervous look. Yao shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He whispered something quickly to Ivan in a mash-up of Chinese and Russian, but the bigger boy just grinned even more.

"So…Prince Arthur, right? How long have you been…err…with my son?"

"Oh, um, we've been together almost a month now," Arthur said. Alfred flashed him a smile.

"I'll be our one month anniversary in just two days! Exciting!" Alfred said with a sappy grin. Richard's eye twitched, and his smile appeared even more forced.

"That's…just great. Any chance it's, ya know, just a phase?" Richard asked.

"_Excuse_ me?" Arthur replied. Richard cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Not trying to offend boys. We've just…uh…never had a gay in the family before. I'm curious, that's all."

"Dad…can't we just talk about something else?" Alfred asked a little desperately. He was dark red, and he was glaring over Arthur's head at Ivan for chuckling at his discomfort. Matthew, who was feeling all the tension more than anyone, broke into a coughing fit and then pointed weakly at the tinted window.

"Weather! We…err…we've been having some, eh?" he said. Francis paused in his conversation with Helen to glance at Matthew as if he were a slow-witted child.

"Excuse him. He gets nervous easily," Francis said. Arthur, however, jumped gratefully on the topic.

"No, he's quite right. The rain has been dreadful for this late in January. I was rather hoping the game would be rained out—" Arthur came this close to actually slapping his hand over his own mouth, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

"Right! The game—like I was saying, son, when you go for those Springbok Loops ya _gotta_ watch your left side. You can't—"

"I _know_, Dad. I'll close the line, next time. What restaurant are we going to?" Alfred asked.

"Don't think you can get outta this. I came to see your game, and we're gonna have a heart to heart about it before I leave. I don't know about the restaurant—your mother picked it. It's probably overpriced with tiny little portions."

"_Dick_," Helen warned, "I heard that," she said with a sweet smile. "You know I'm only trying to help you watch your figure, dear. You've been splurging on wheat bread for months now—all those carbs are going to go straight to your love handles," she simpered.

"I do _not_ have love handles, Helen. I'm in the best shape of my life. Too bad the doc benched you, Al. I could have run some plays with you while I'm in town."

"Yeah…darn," Alfred said, sounding far too relieved. Arthur barely bit back a grin.

An awkward silence fell, only broken by their arrival at the restaurant.

"Thank _god_," Arthur whispered to Matthew. They were the last two to climb out of the car, and they had fallen behind the others. "At least now we'll have food as a distraction," Arthur added. Matthew nodded gratefully, his eyes huge and traumatized.

"Helen was…forceful…on her own, but the two of them together—it's like being dropped naked into a cage with two hungry tigers. I can't handle pressure like this! How did Alfred grow _up_ with them?" Matthew whispered.

"He's lucky he grew up at all. I have a feeling that in the wild, mothers like Helen tend to eat their young," Arthur grumbled.

"Yeah! What the _heck_ is up with her staring at me so much? I feel like she's raping me with her eyes," Matthew said. Arthur gave the nervous boy a gentle pat on his shoulder in comfort.

"She's decided she'd rather see Alfred dating you than me—though now she'll probably have her sights fixed on Francis. Too bad for her, Francis isn't entirely convinced yet that Alfred isn't a unique breed of hairless monkey."

"_Arthur_…Francis and Alfred are friends…kind of," Matthew defended weakly.

"Oh come off it. Francis takes Alfred for an idiot, and Alfred still hasn't forgiven Francis for putting the moves on me."

"Geez, this whole thing is just _ridiculously_ awkward. I'm going to be busy the next time they visit," Matthew whispered. Then he sighed. "One of us needs to save Alfred—his dad's back on the game again," Matthew realized. Completely ignoring Yao and Ivan nearby, Richard was now gesturing wildly as he recounted the game with a play by play memory, lambasting Alfred for every fumble, misstep, and awkward pass. Alfred was just taking it, seemingly well-accustomed to how his father reacted to sports and, in particular, his athletic performances.

Arthur frowned. "I'll handle it—I can't believe this wanker has the entire American populace so duped."

"He's really a brilliant politician—just a lousy dad," Matthew said weakly. Arthur just shook his head and returned to Alfred's side, where he insisted the taller boy accompany him to the restroom.

"What are you—ten year old girls? I thought only women had to go to the restroom in pairs," Richard joked, though it was obvious he was annoyed by the interruption. Looking a little confused by Arthur's request, Alfred excused himself with a pleading look at Ivan not do anything stupid in his absence.

Ivan just smirked and waved.

As soon as Alfred and Arthur were in the bathroom, Alfred smiled. He actually smiled.

"It's going really well, huh?"

Arthur's mind boggled.

"…pardon?"

"Yeah! I mean, I can't believe my dad actually let Ivan come, and when he called him Dick I thought my dad was gonna punch him in the face. He's totally keeping his cool, though! He hasn't even yelled at me once! I'm super glad he's getting to meet all of you. I bet he's in such a good mood 'cause he's really proud of me for making so many friends this year."

"I…Alfred…" Arthur honestly didn't know what to say. To avoid having to say anything, he focused on his zipper and the urinal.

"And my mom! She totally loves Francis! And did you see how nice she was being to Matthew? That's a huge improvement since they last met. They're both trying really hard. It's nice, ya know?" Alfred continued. Arthur actually physically winced.

"Oh, Alfred…I'm glad you're having a good visit," he settled on saying. Some tiny, panicked part of his brain jumped to five years in the future. Would Alfred want to live in the states? What if he wanted to live near his parents? What if (oh _god_) they adopted a child some day, and then Arthur never got any peace from them? They'd take their little girl to a soccer game and there would be Richard—screaming in the stands and bickering with Helen over their ridiculous health food.

"Alfred…you know England has some of the world's absolute best universities, right?" Arthur said. His boyfriend (who had occupied himself washing his hands) blinked at him confusedly.

"Err…that's nice," he said. Arthur thought of his non-existent little six-year-old clutching her soccer ball and crying as Richard shouted at her and he spaced out at the urinal. "Artie? Earth to Artie? You still in there?" Alfred asked. Arthur just glanced at him, and did up his pants. He washed his hands, still with that uncomfortable look of mild horror on his face.

"I'm just thinking about something, that's all," Arthur said distractedly.

"Oh…'bout what?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing. Our future children," he said dismissively, drying his hands and leaving the bathroom. Alfred saw his own shocked expression in the mirror.

"Kids?" he mouthed incredulously. Racing out of the bathroom after Arthur, he only managed a quick, "Why are you already thinking about _kids_?" before they had to sit down and rejoin the table's conversations.

Finally, _finally_, the food arrived and Arthur was saved from having to make further conversation thanks to his tiny, over-priced entre. He'd never been so grateful towards a plate of food in his life.

**A/N:** lol, I gotta say, I really love Dick and Helen. They're such fun characters to write. God, they're just terrible. Even _I_ feel sorry for Arthur after this chapter. And, as always, there's Alfred: completely clueless. Hope this chapter was fun in one of those 'zomg poor boys' kind of way. ;)


	35. The Perils of a Bored Alfred

Chapter 35

Two weeks had passed since Alfred's parents had visited, and things were almost back to normal. Better than normal, even, because now the rugby season was over and Arthur hadn't been dragged out to the field for a record-breaking six days. Of course, Alfred still did his usual workouts with Ivan, and added a morning run to make-up for the practices he no longer had to attend, but overall, Arthur saw much more of him.

This was at first a blessing…and then it had become a curse.

"Arrrrttthhhuuuurrr…"

Arthur continued working on his essay, ignoring the pleading boy as best he could.

"Artie. Artie. Artie Fartie."

Arthur lifted his eyes up over the top of his laptop screen just enough that Alfred could see his stony glare.

"I just wanted to say I love you," Alfred pouted. He was sprawled out on his old bed (after Arthur had kicked him off of his) and he had a comic book, but it wasn't doing much to hold his attention. Alfred's friends had monitored his sugar level, and exhausted themselves thinking of ways to occupy the other boy's free time, but so far they'd been unsuccessful.

"Alfred, I'm trying to write my paper," Arthur said, in a very reasonable tone of voice. Alfred pouted even more.

"But…but…I'm _bored_," the blond complained. Arthur winced. Alfred was not easy to love when he was bored. The other boy became distracting, and whiny, and absolutely ridiculous.

"No you're not," Arthur replied crisply, returning to his paper. Scientists have studied the grieving process extensively, and they have identified Arthur's current mentality as being in denial. Yes, Arthur was very firmly in denial, because upon Alfred's announcement that he was bored, Arthur knew it was to be the death of his sanity for the next half hour.

"I think I am…" Alfred replied in a sing-song voice. Arthur scowled ever so slightly. Out of nowhere, a pillow flew across the room and hit Arthur square between the eyes.

"ALFRED!" Arthur roared. This stage is known as the anger phase. Alfred grinned, another pillow at the ready. Arthur protectively saved his paper and then turned his best glare on the other boy.

"A pillow fight would be very fun! I wouldn't be bored if we were pillow fighting!" Alfred continued, all in that same, moronic sing-songy voice. It made Arthur's eye twitch.

"If you throw that pillow at me, I will smack you as hard as I possibly can," Arthur informed. Alfred hesitated. Realizing that the anger phase wasn't doing much for his cause, Arthur moved quickly to bargaining. "But…if you let me finish my paper in peace, I'll reward you for being patient."

The pillow hit him square in the face, followed by the maniacal cackling of his boyfriend.

Alfred had rolled off his bed and was creeping closer, staying in a defensive position, ready to attack further if his prey put up any further resistance. But his caution was unnecessary. Arthur closed his laptop in defeat, entered firmly into the stage of depression, and frowned moodily as Alfred pounced happily back onto his spot next to Arthur.

"I loooove you!" Alfred said, wrapping him up in a bear hug and pressing sloppy kisses against his hair. "I'm just gonna cuddle with you so I'm not bored, okay? Don't fight it. Just let me cuddle you."

Arthur tried hard to maintain his annoyed glare, but it was rather hard to do with the other boy being so…so…ridiculous. So _Alfred_.

"You've sneaked off and had some sugar, haven't you? I've _told_ you that when you aren't burning it off during practice, you have to lay off all the sugary junk food! It makes you too hyper. You're just going to have to control yourself, though, because I really need to finish my essay," Arthur protested. At the same time, he relaxed in Alfred's hold and let the other boy kiss him and grope at him as he pleased. It was nice, he had to admit, the soft kisses and the warm hug…

"Let's wrestle!" Alfred decided, pinning him suddenly to the bed. Alfred's version of wrestling was not one that Arthur particularly enjoyed. In Alfred's mind, whoever managed to tackle the other got tickling rights, and so it always ended up that Arthur was trapped under the heavier boy gasping for air and barely refraining from pissing his pants. Alfred thought it was great entertainment.

"No! I'm not playing that game!" Arthur squirmed like an eel and somehow, miraculously, managed to twist in such a way that Alfred rolled off the bed with Arthur on top. Arthur's whole face lit up with glee and he attacked mercilessly. Alfred screamed girlishly and then his protests (and his shouting that Arthur was cheating) quickly turned into mad laughter.

"Stop! Stop!" Alfred begged. Sadistically, Arthur dug his fingers into Alfred's armpits and wiggled them. Alfred bucked and squirmed, but Arthur was firmly seated on top for once in their wrestling match, and he had no intention of letting up on Alfred so the other boy could gain the upper hand.

"Promise you'll stop annoying me!" Arthur demanded. Alfred giggled against his will and tried to thrust Arthur off. He didn't succeed, but Arthur did start to blush and smile a little. Alfred really did have an adorable laugh.

"I'm gonna pee on you!" Alfred threatened. Arthur tickled harder.

"Promise!"

"Never!" Alfred launched a counter-offensive, and managed to graze his fingers up Arthur's sides. The shorter boy squealed and flinched backwards, giving Alfred the freedom of movement he needed to switch their positions.

"No! No! Let me go! I won!" Arthur shouted, entirely in vain. Alfred had now rolled onto him, his solid weight pressing him down to the ground with no hope of escape. What was worse, Alfred had decided to combine two games into one, and grabbed a nearby pillow and whacked Arthur with it.

"Let me kiss you and I'll stop," Alfred offered, followed by another jarring whack from the pillow. Arthur tried to wiggle his arms free from under Alfred's thighs, but he was unable.

"Fine!" he replied, after Alfred snuck in another cheap shot. Alfred was grinning like an idiot when he peeked around the pillow at his highly aggravated lover.

"You mean it? It has to be a nice kiss. You can't bite me," Alfred stipulated. Arthur glared at him moodily.

"No biting," he agreed, reluctantly. Alfred smiled cockily and leaned downwards, coaxing a sweet, sexy kiss out of Arthur. It was one of Alfred's favorite games of all to annoy Arthur as much as he was able and then somehow escape punishment by turning their games into steamy make-out sessions. Arthur pretended it aggravated him but, secretly, he had just as much fun as Alfred.

A loud fart ripped through the room, and Arthur actually _felt_ it against his tummy.

"UGH! GET OFF ME!" Arthur roared, calling on his last reserves of strength and pushing the taller, giggling boy off of himself. The room was starting to smell like rotten eggs, and Arthur pinched his nose shut with one hand and mercilessly smacked Alfred on his muscular shoulder with the other. "THAT WAS NASTY, YOU PRAT!" Arthur scolded.

Alfred, however, thought it was the funniest thing _ever_ that he'd sat on Arthur and farted on him, and was literally rolling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks because he was laughing so hard.

"Oh, that's _it_. I'm leaving! I can't breathe, let alone get any work done. I don't care if you _die_ of boredom! Don't come bugging me!" Arthur snatched up his laptop and left the room, making sure to slam the door as hard as he could. He tried to think of where he might find some peace, and hoped that maybe Francis and Matthew were having some quiet, study time in their room. When he knocked, Matthew answered and took one look at his mused hair and pissed expression.

"Uh-oh. Alfred's bored again, isn't he?"

"Just let me in already, before he sees which door I go in!" Arthur hissed. Grinning, Matthew let him in and shut the door firmly behind him. Arthur was relieved when Matthew locked it.

As Alfred's best friend next to Arthur, Matthew understood the perils and aggravations of a bored Alfred.

"You _could_ date someone who was a little more mature, and you wouldn't have this problem," Francis said from the armchair, where he was sprawled out comfortably readying his history text. Arthur settled on Francis's bed and opened his laptop, ignoring the statement that was meant to get a rise out of him.

"Alfred's just a little too excitable at times. He's not childish…well…not _that_ childish," Matthew defended weakly. Francis shot him a disbelieving glance before returning to his text. Matthew returned to his own bed, where his math homework awaited him.

It only took Alfred a few minutes to recover and come looking for his favorite victim.

"Mattie…Mattie-my-bestest-friend-ever…I'm looking for Arthur. Whatever he's told you is lies. I was being really sweet and he was mean to me. He _hit_ me," Alfred whined from outside the locked door. Everyone inside remained silent. Alfred's head could be heard thumping against the wood.

"Maaatttiiiieeee! I'm _bored_! Stop pretending like you're not in there!"

Matthew hesitated for a long moment, but then he caved, despite Arthur and Francis's frantic head shaking.

"Alfred…we're trying to study. Why don't you go hang out with Ivan?" Matthew suggested.

"Ha! I knew you were in there! Matthew, you don't want to study! You want to come play with my new water guns! I'll let you have the bigger one!" Alfred offered. Matthew bit his lip. Water guns _did_ sound like more fun than math homework…

"No! Resist Matthew! Once you give in, he won't let you go! You'll lose a whole afternoon frittering time away and then tomorrow will come and you won't have any of your assignments done and you'll fail your math test and Alfred won't feel guilty at all—he'll just want to play even more. You have to say no to him, for his own good!" Arthur whispered harshly. Matthew tried to steel himself for the confrontation.

It was awfully hard to ignore Alfred's tempting offers to goof off all afternoon, though. Matthew didn't know how Arthur had managed to keep his grades up while dating the other boy and spending so much time with him. He likely studied after Alfred had fallen asleep.

"Throw a bone out of a second story window—maybe he'll fetch," Francis suggested amicably. Both Matthew and Arthur scowled at him. The French boy just smiled and shrugged his shoulders roguishly.

"Mattie…please let me in. You're leaving me out and it hurts my feelings," Alfred whined pitifully. Arthur shook his head in warning, but Matthew's lip trembled. He moved to get off the bed.

"Stay strong, Matthew!" Arthur warned. But Matthew was caving…

"Mattie, I _promise_ I'll be calm. I'll just draw. We haven't worked on our comics in forever. You always tell me you have schoolwork. I just miss my best buddy…" Alfred confessed. It was heartbreaking to hear. If an adorable puppy with a broken leg and a wet little nose in desperate need of hugs were able to speak, it would have sounded like Alfred.

Matthew unlocked the door, and Arthur made a dive for the restroom, but it was too late. Alfred all but kicked in the door, laughing like a mad man.

"SUCKER!" And he soaked Matthew with a huge water gun. Alfred rolled military style into the bedroom, nailed Arthur in his attempt to flee, and soaked Francis even as he started hurling things. Without so much as a drop of water on him, Alfred sprinted out of the room crowing about his supreme awesomeness.

"You caved last time, too!" Arthur accused hotly. Francis stood up, shaking water off his text book.

"YOU should not come running here! He's your pet idiot—_you_ keep him occupied! Why don't you keep some coloring books on hand and some little packets of crayons for him?" Francis retorted. From the open doorway, they heard someone shout indignantly as Alfred clearly claimed another victim further down the hall.

"Kill streak 4! I AM UNDEFEATABLE! Troops from England, Canada, France and now China crumble before my awesome American might! I will conquer the WORLD!" Alfred's voice echoed back down the hallway.

"Someone's going to _really_ shoot him," Matthew guessed. Arthur tried to wring water out of his T-shirt and cast Matthew a baleful glare.

"He has too much free time since rugby ended. At first it was nice, but now…now he must be stopped. We have to think of something to keep him occupied."

"KILLSTREAK 5, BITCHES! Russia – 0, America – 1 billion points! You should have seen the look on your face, you commie bastard! Ha ha ha - AGH! Ivan, no! Not my Squirty 4000! Arthur! Arthur help!"

"Oh for the love of—" Arthur ran out of the bedroom, squinting down the hall to see what had happened. It quickly became obvious. Alfred had become too enthusiastic in his game and had soaked Yao. If Yao had been walking alone, he likely would have escaped retaliation…but Yao (as was usually the case) was followed closely by Ivan.

Alfred, high on his success, had foolishly shot Ivan, too.

Now Ivan had Alfred's gun held high above the other boy's head, and was holding Alfred off with one large, restraining hand spread over Alfred's forehead. Yao was assaulting Alfred in Chinese, likely whining about his wet hair, and Ivan was scowling furiously as water dripped off his nose. Before Arthur could intervene, Ivan smashed the plastic toy against the brick wall, crumpling it effortlessly. Then, with a demonic smile, Ivan captured Alfred's head under his arm (Alfred was fighting the hold with everything he had and going nowhere fast) and Ivan dragged Alfred over to the water fountain.

"ARTHUR!" Alfred shouted. Arthur sighed.

"Ivan, let him go," Arthur commanded, though it was a _very_ weak command. Ivan got Alfred's face down to the water fountain upside down and pressed the button as hard as he could jam it. A shot of icy water pegged Alfred in the face and went up his nose.

"Who gave you sugar?" Ivan demanded, jamming the fountain button a few more times.

"I won't rat out my source!" Alfred replied. Arthur shook his head. This was why Alfred's fits of boredom were so dangerous. This time, it had resulted in Ivan cleverly transforming a water fountain into a torture device.

"Tell me!" Ivan demanded. One more dose of water and Alfred cracked, spluttering.

"It was Doris!" Alfred confessed. Ivan released him with a glare at Arthur.

"You aren't supposed to let him go into the cafeteria unsupervised. He flirts with that ugly lunch lady and she lets him eat frosting," Ivan lectured. Arthur found himself in the middle of all his friends (who were soaking), all of them glaring—not at Alfred, but at _him_.

"Why are you giving _me_ those looks? I'm wet, too! Plus I got tackled, and tickled, and assaulted by pillows all before I even managed to escape," Arthur defended.

"Your boyfriend—_your_ responsibility!" Yao said. Ivan shoved Alfred towards Arthur. The lanky teen stumbled into Arthur's bracing arms, water dribbling out of his nose.

"It was only _one _can of frosting…" Alfred said pathetically.

Arthur eyed everyone's annoyed expressions and knew it had to be done.

"That's it, Alfred. You're driving us all crazy lately. You just have too much energy and free time. The morning run and custodial duty aren't cutting it. You need to join a new sport."

"Nothing is in season right now…except football…or soccer, in Alfred's case," Yao informed helpfully. Alfred pouted at Arthur, but Arthur was finally growing some immunity.

"Soccer is _lame_, and I suck at kicking!" Alfred said.

"Their practice starts in a half-hour. Lots of running," Yao added. Alfred glanced desperately at his so-called "friends," but they'd have none of it.

"You're going. Go change," Arthur said.

"But!"

"We need a _break!_"Arthur shouted back. Alfred flinched.

"But I've only been out of rugby for two weeks," Alfred complained.

"And that was one week and five days too long," Arthur replied, giving Alfred an unkindly shove back towards their shared room. Alfred had finally finished moving his things back in, and the constant presence of the other boy when Arthur had grown accustomed to rooming alone only worsened the situation.

"I've only wanted to have fun with you guys…" Alfred moped pathetically.

Five glares plowed over him until he dragged himself back into his room, sniffling.

"Oh, that was hard," Matthew said. "We really shouldn't bully him into doing something he doesn't want to do."

"Nonsense. Alfred's like a puppy. If you don't keep him occupied, he starts destroying things. He's happy when some angry coach is screaming at him to run more," Arthur said briskly.

"Don't you mean _you're_ happy, because you get quiet time in the stands to do your work?" Matthew accused. Arthur snorted.

"Maybe. But whatever. It's settled. He'll play football."

Ivan and Yao continued on to their rooms and Francis returned to his own in a sulk. It was only Matthew and Arthur left in the hallway when Alfred came reluctantly back out, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, cleats in hand.

"I don't want to go," Alfred pouted. Arthur scowled.

"Yes you do. Lots of your friends play football," Arthur tried to encourage. Alfred, bottom lip thrust out, just scowled petulantly. Feeling guilty, Matthew tried to cheer up his saddened friend.

"Yeah! Arthur's right! Feliciano and Ludwig play, and so does Antonio and Lovino! Oh! Don't forget Kiku—he plays, too. I've heard he's really good. I bet he'd give you some tips," Matthew said. Arthur flinched in alarm.

"I didn't know…that Kiku played. Those guys…they're all probably far too competitive. Now that I think about it, football really doesn't seem like the sport for you. What about…err…spin class? I saw the poster for it the other day. You'd like it, Alfred. They use batons with pretty ribbons tied onto them, and they…you know…spin in circles."

Both Matthew and Alfred were looking at him like he was crazy. Arthur flushed dark red.

"There's nothing wrong with interpretive dance!"

"Well if _those_ are my options, I'm gonna go with soccer. Are you coming too, or are you banishing me to practice to get a break from me?" Alfred asked sulkily. Arthur thought of Kiku's warning, which he'd all but forgotten in the blissful first few weeks of he and Alfred's relationship.

"Of course I'll come. I always come to your practices, don't I? Because I love you. I'll just grab my laptop, shall I? It'll be just like rugby—you doing something you love and me there, always watching…I mean, supporting you…because we're together and you love me," Arthur said. Alfred and Matthew shared a confused glance. Arthur scowled.

"Because you _love_ me, _right_? And you'd never cheat on me. Because if you did, I'd scalp you and burn your things," he threatened. Alfred gulped.

"Err…yeah, Artie. Of course I love you. But, uh, sweetie…you look a little scary right now," Alfred said. Arthur scowled, but then broke the staring contest to go get his laptop.

"That was weird," Matthew said, watching him go. Alfred just shrugged his shoulders obliviously.

"Artie can be _super _weird. I don't understand what he's talking about most of the time. I just nod and smile."

Matthew grinned in amusement and patted his taller friend on the shoulder.

"That's a good strategy, Al," he said. "But, you know, you should probably be careful and not get too…err…flirty with anyone on the soccer team, eh? Don't know why, but Arthur seems nervous about it."

Alfred scratched his head in confusion but shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright, I guess. I'm not worried. I don't even know how to flirt!" Alfred said confidently. Of course, as he proclaimed this, he grinned charmingly and his baby blue eyes twinkled with light hearted humor. It was hard to call him lanky now—he was more toned than anything. Sure, he still had the braces and the glasses, but he seemed to carry them better these days. Maybe Matthew had just gotten used to seeing them. Regardless, Alfred used his good looks to flirt subconsciously. As someone who had never been aware of his own appeal, he was also unaware of when he was using it.

"Sure…just be careful, Alfred," Matthew warned, feeling like it was rather useless. Arthur returned with his laptop and a thunderous expression.

"Let's go," he said crisply, leaving no room for argument.

USUK

Alfred scowled petulantly as Arthur explained the situation to the football coach, who nearly chased Alfred off his pitch when he recognized him as the terrible rugby player.

"He doesn't want to play in the games—he just needs the exercise. He can run after the balls for your players, and he's already got loads of experience as a towel boy," Arthur persuaded. The football coach, however, had a gleam in his eye.

"I'll take him if _you'll_ join. I saw the rugby game. You're in the wrong sport, kid," the football coach advised. Arthur scowled.

"I need to get work done. I have no interest in chasing around a ball—" Arthur was interrupted by the quiet arrival of Kiku, who appeared at the football coach's side with a serene smile directed at Alfred.

"I am glad you decided to come, Alfred. I have not seen you much since the last Hero Club meeting," Kiku said. The football coach gave Kiku's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"You boys probably know Kiku—he's shaping up to be my star player. You played pretty well in that rugby game, Kirkland, but I think Kiku's still got the better kick," the football coach suggested casually, knowing full well what he was doing.

Arthur scowled, even as Alfred smiled obliviously at his Japanese friend.

"Yeah, 'course we know Kiku! I didn't know you were so good at soccer! Think you could give me some pointers?" Alfred said. The Japanese boy flushed lightly with color, and even Arthur had to admit the other boy was ridiculously cute.

Irrationally jealous, Arthur scowled heavily.

"Fine. I'll play if you'll let Alfred play as well," Arthur said the words in such a way that it was obvious _why_ he was playing—he had something to prove against Kiku. The dark-haired boy merely glanced at him, flashed a small, half-smile and returned his attention to Alfred's happy stream of chatter.

"Hiya, guys! You came to play football! How great is that? Now we can all play together!" A chirrupy voice chorused. They glanced up at the arrival of Feliciano, who was decked out in matching football gear and looked very comfortable on the field. His beaming smile of pure joy was contrasted with the expression on his companion's face. Ludwig trailed after him, scowling nearly as much as Arthur, clearly annoyed that practice was being delayed because of Alfred and Arthur's late arrival.

"Alright, well, try-outs are over and I'm pretty sure I've got my team, but you boys can join practice if you want. If you prove to be as good kicking in this game as you are in rugby, though, there might be a spot open for you, Kirkland," the coach said before blowing his whistle and starting the boys on drills.

Arthur stuck like glue to Kiku, forcing him into "polite" conversation and challenging him on the field whenever he tried to drift closer to Alfred. As practice continued, the unspoken rivalry between the two was quite heated, and they were battling against each other furiously for possession of the ball—practically ignoring the other team members on the field.

"This is a TEAM sport, Kirkland! Pass the ball!" the coach yelled. Alfred stood nearby, watching the battle play out with surprised eyes and slight confusion. Feliciano was also taking a water break, and he frowned lightly at Kiku and Arthur.

"It's sad that they aren't getting along so well. Kiku seemed to respect Arthur a whole lot in student council, but now he doesn't seem to like him much. I wonder what happened?" Feliciano mused. Alfred agreed, glad that someone else besides himself had noticed the weird vibe.

"I dunno what's with Arthur. He's always liked Kiku before, too," Alfred said. "And he hates playing sports like this, so I don't know why he's even playing at all."

A harsh voice piped up behind them.

"You two fucking idiots are so clueless!" Lovino growled, startling both boys. Alfred and Feliciano jumped in surprise and then looked at the older boy questioningly.

"What do you mean, big brother?" Feliciano asked.

"Eyebrows is _jealous_ of your little Japanese friend. He's just trying to keep him away from his golden boy here…that's _you_." Lovino snapped, flicking Alfred on the shoulder as he shoved past him to the water cooler.

"Huh? Why would Arthur be jealous of Kiku?" Alfred asked.

"Oh, I don't fucking know. Maybe he's worried because it's almost Valentine's Day. You are gonna dump him before Valentine's right? Otherwise you'd have to do something really sappy and over the top for him and waste a lot of money," Lovino said. "Because if you don't," he continued, "he'll dump _you_."

Alfred suddenly looked highly concerned. Feliciano frowned as well, and it was a strange expression to see on the normally chipper boy's face.

"Big brother…we are all in the Hero Club now, yes? Clearly, me and Alfred need some help! You know a lot about Valentine's Day. Will you help us?" Feliciano asked. Alfred, too worried about this new problem between himself and Arthur, didn't even think to ask who Feliciano was dating. Of course, it was fairly obvious to the entire school, but such things typically went over Alfred's head.

Lovino jerked his water bottle away from the cooler and took a long drink.

"Fuck no, I won't help you. I have no interest in—"

"Oh, hey guys! I'm a little surprised to see you at practice, Alfred. Having fun?" Antonio asked as he approached the water cooler. Lovino instantly scowled at him, clenching his water bottle in his hand.

"Piss off! Nobody invited you over here!" Lovino growled hotly. Antonio stood a good foot taller than his stormy fellow sophomore, and he grinned at him knowingly before smoothly stepping around him.

"Oh…err…I guess. Soccer is kinda lame, though," Alfred replied, distracted now by the sight of Arthur and Kiku arguing over one of the coach's calls.

"You Americans have funny tastes in sports. Has Laura tracked you down yet?" Antonio asked. Alfred finally turned away from the field, confusion on his face. Antonio clarified. "Laura—the girl who did your photo shoot with Arthur?"

"Oh, no, I haven't seen her since then," Alfred said.

"Well the calendar is almost done, but she wanted to talk to you about doing some more modeling for her. Your shots came out pretty amazing. I mean, everyone looked good, but there's something really different about—"

"I said to piss off!" Lovino harshly interjected, going so far as to push the taller boy. Antonio stumbled backwards, caught off guard, and scowled lightly at Lovino before his expression turned into a knowing grin.

"You're ridiculous, Lovino," Antonio declared, though he didn't seem very angry. Rather, he just shook his head in amused disbelief and took a swig of water from his refilled bottle. "But whatever—I have to get back on the field anyway. Find Laura, though, okay, man?" Antonio said, before leaving their little group. Lovino was scowling at him so fiercely that even Alfred and Feliciano picked up on the angry vibe.

"Big brother, you seem angrier with Antonio than usual?" Feliciano said a little nervously. His volatile big brother threw his water bottle to the ground and sat on the bench nearby in a sulk.

"He was practically raping blondie with his eyes! It was fucking disgusting!" Lovino growled. Alfred and Feliciano exchanged confused looks.

"Uh…you mean…you thought he was flirting with me?" Alfred asked, scratching his head. He really didn't understand this whole flirting business. Why did it seem obvious to everyone but him?

"That dumbass Spaniard flirts with _everyone_!" Lovino pitched his voice higher to imitate a girl's and continued, "Oh, _Antonio_, you're so fucking sweet and romantic. You're a _drummer_? That's _so_ sexy. I love that you have an artistic side. Could I see your _fucking_ photos sometime?" His voice returned to a deeper register and he kicked up a clump of grass aggressively with the cleats on his heel. "He's such a…such a…fucking idiot!"

Feliciano, knowing his brother fairly well, finally began to smile.

"It sounds like to me that we _all_ have some preparing to do for Valentine's Day. Big brother, if you help me and Alfred, we'll help you do something special for Antonio!"

"Huh? Why would he want to do something special for Antonio?" Alfred asked. Antonio glared at Alfred.

"Why would I want to spend time with you idiots at all?" He pointed to Alfred, "This one's so dumb he'd buy a solar-powered fucking flash-light, and I _really_ can't stand that potato-sucking bastard that you like so damn much."

Alfred had totally lost the thread of conversation by this point, and could only reach one conclusion.

"Your anger-management therapy isn't going so well, is it?" he said pityingly. Lovino glared. Feliciano beamed, and clapped his hands in a "well, that's settled now!" sort of way.

"Alright! So Lovino will help you and me get ready for Valentine's Day, and we'll help him do something special for Antonio. Man, it's really nice to have friends when you're in a pinch like this, huh?"

"I guess…" Alfred trailed off unsurely. Lovino flicked them off and stormed back onto the field.

"Don't worry, he'll help for sure! We just need to bribe him a little…" Feliciano asserted. Alfred shook his head. Lovino didn't seem like the sort of guy that knew a lot about love, but his little brother seemed pretty confident he had good information. Alfred's eyes gravitated to Arthur, who looked _very_ close to shoving the soccer ball down either Kiku or the coach's throat (whoever he could get to first). Alfred sure as heck didn't understand what was going on in Arthur's head all the time, so maybe he _did_ need more help than he realized?

"Okay, we have a new Hero Club Mission! Convince Lovino to help us get ready for Valentine's Day!" Alfred announced, full of determination. Feliciano beamed, and gave him a high-five.

"Yay! This will be the best Valentine's Day ever!" Feliciano chirruped. Gazing first unsurely at his stormy boyfriend, and then further down the field at the volatile Lovino, Alfred could only pray that Feliciano would be right.

**A/N:** Slow update, but it was a fun chapter. In case you're wondering, they have about a week until Valentine's, and the mayhem that the holiday of love will cause is only just beginning…


	36. Hero Club Mission: Help Lovino!

Chapter 36

The student council members shuffled into their places and waited for Emily to begin the meeting. The room was decked out in shiny red and pink hearts, and Arthur was a little frightened of whatever plans Emily had for the saccharine sweet holiday.

"Alright, everyone! Listen up! This meeting is to discuss the Valentine's Day fundraiser and the Sweetheart Ball, which is all commencing in just one short week. Students will be able to order valentines for their friends and significant others through the student council leading up to the holiday, as most of you already know. On Friday, we'll be delivering the valentines. We also have a dance to prepare for—a dance that's special because we hold the annual Slave of Love auction. Listen up, underclassmen, because here's where you lot come in," Emily said with a devilish grin. Arthur and Ludwig exchanged uneasy glances. Emily had several bags lined up against the wall behind her and she went to them now, picking them up one by one and glancing at the labels.

"These are the costumes for the Slave of Love auction and for the Cupid deliveries. If you have both costumes, then I need you doing both events. Listen for your name," she said. The freshmen looked at each other nervously while the upperclassmen snickered.

"Cupid duty seems embarrassing, but it's way better than being auctioned off at the dance," one girl commented to Ludwig, who looked as though he was sucking on a lemon.

"No way! Those Cupid costumes are mortifying. At least at the auction you look sexy…'course, you might have to go on a date with someone you barely know."

"Excuse me, but I refuse to be auctioned off like some sort of—" Arthur was interrupted by his enthusiastic boyfriend.

"This'll be totally fun! Can I do both?" Alfred asked. Emily laughed at him and handed him his bag.

"Well, I thought of you specifically for the auction," Emily said. "Here, Arthur, this one's for you. I figured you would refuse participating in the auction—" (there was a sigh of disappointment from Arthur's fanclub at this) "But you can still help deliver valentines. All the underclassmen have to do one or the other."

"Oh, fantastic," Arthur drawled sarcastically, peering into his bag to see a lot of fluffy white material and some glittery angel wings. There was also a red bow and arrow (with a heart shaped tip), soaked in red glitter.

"Huh? Mine is just a jersey and some underwear," Alfred said. "Where are my pants?"

"Those _are_ your pants. See? You're on Team Love now, and your new number is 69," Emily cackled a bit evilly. Alfred blushed, but he'd worn even less for the photography club. He was manly enough to wear hot shorts in front of the entire school…even if they did have glittery pink hearts on each ass cheek.

Feliciano and Kiku both had cupid costumes, but Ludwig, Elise, Meghan, Yao, and Francis had equally embarrassing auction "uniforms."

"Absolutely not! Elise is not wearing—whatever _that_ is!" Basch said hotly. The meek girl was blushing hotly as she held up the maid uniform.

"Well, Basch, you can take her place in the auction and she can take your place as a cupid," Emily suggested casually…almost as if that had been her plan all along. Glaring sinisterly, Basch snatched the maid costume from Elise and roughly passed her his own wad of white fabric and glitter wings.

"_Fine_. We _should_ have quit this stupid club for good," he grumbled under his breath to Elise. Who merely smiled at the wad of costume that had been none too gently shoved at her lap. Despite his protests, as the club's future treasurer, Basch saw the value in the money-making schemes.

"Now, upperclassmen, we still have to finish preparations for the dance and ordering the valentine materials," Emily said, transitioning to a new topic. The underclassmen stared at their costumes with a wide range of expressions. Francis looked excited (in fact, this appeared to be the first time something in student council had interested him all year), while Ludwig appeared likely to die of embarrassment any minute. Yao had a pretty blush on his cheeks as he peered into the depths of his bag.

Alfred was staring a bit confusedly at the black little spandex shorts, the hearts dancing in his vision.

"Artie...you're gonna bid on me, right? 'Cause it'll be embarrassing enough going out there in this outfit if nobody even bids," Alfred whispered. Offended by the shorts, Arthur snatched them from Alfred's grasp and threw them back into the bag.

"Of course I'll bid for you. I'll bid high so it'll be over quickly," Arthur said. From across the room, Kiku watched the exchange with a thoughtful expression. Someone would be getting a date with Alfred, but it wasn't going to be Arthur. He'd bided his time and hoped the explosive couple would fall apart on their own, but he wasn't going to watch from the sidelines anymore.

USUK

"Okay, new Hero Club Mission! Bribe Lovino!" Alfred said enthusiastically. A few people in the grocery store paused in their shopping and glanced at the over-enthusiastic boy. Feliciano, however, just smiled happily.

"Yeah!" he said brightly. Alfred glanced down the chocolate aisle, where countless little pink and red boxes waited for ardent lovers, as well as cards on the next aisle and sprays of roses in the floral department. Any of it would have made a really good Valentine's Day bribe—no wonder Feliciano had said they needed to visit this particular grocery store.

"So what are we getting? Chocolate? Flowers?" Alfred asked, "Because if it's flowers, you should really be the one to pick them out—I'm _terrible_ at it. I once sent Arthur flowers and it made him think his grandma was dead," Alfred said sheepishly. Feliciano blinked a bit vapidly and then pointed towards the vegetables, and a big sign that read "Imported from Spain" hovering above the bin overflowing with succulent looking tomatoes.

"Big brother _loves_ these! I found this store earlier in the year, but I won't tell Lovino where it is. This way, I can get his help with just about anything!" Feliciano said. Alfred blinked in surprise.

"That's pretty smart, dude!" he replied. He wondered if there was any food Arthur really liked. Maybe that would make a good valentine?

Speaking of Arthur, Alfred's cell phone buzzed in the pocket of his rugby jacket. Alfred frowned to see it was Arthur calling—he hadn't explained his absence for fear he would spill the secret. He bit his lip worriedly, knowing it would make Arthur upset that he was ignoring his call, but he sent it to voicemail and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

He _couldn't_ blab and ruin all the hard work he was putting into Valentine's Day, else Arthur might really dump him for ruining the important holiday.

"Are you coming, Alfred?" Feliciano asked, as he loaded up his small basket with shiny tomatoes.

"Oh, yeah, totally! We don't have to cook these for him, do we?" Alfred asked, having trouble believing someone could be bribed with raw vegetables. _'Yucky!'_ he thought with a scowl.

"No, Lovi likes them just like this. I think forty should do it…" Feliciano mused. Alfred helped carry the tomatoes to the register. He passed the chocolate aisle and peered down it wistfully—he wished it could be as simple as buying Arthur a box of chocolates, but this was their _first_ Valentine's Day together. He couldn't do something so boring. If he did, Lovino was probably right—Arthur would dump him for being lame.

As they stood in the checkout, Feliciano drooled over a cooking magazine and Alfred added an armload of candy bars to their basket. His chocolate selected, Alfred's attention returned once more to his companion for the afternoon.

"So, who are _you_ dating, Feliciano?" he asked. Feliciano blinked in surprise, snapped out of his lust for the pasta dish on the glossy magazine cover.

"Ludwig, of course!"

"What? Seriously? Ludwig is…_gay_?" Alfred asked. "I mean, no offense, but it doesn't surprise me that you're gay at all…but Ludwig?"

Feliciano smiled brightly. "I think I should be insulted," he said, though his ear to ear grin and his twinkling eyes suggested Feliciano didn't know how to be upset or offended.

"Err…well…it's just that he seems pretty tough," Alfred said. Feliciano's smile turned dreamy.

"He is! But he's also really shy, too. I had to ask him out a lot before he would go out with me!" Feliciano said. Alfred blinked in surprise.

"You asked out _him_? Wow. You lucked out. If he didn't like gay people, he would have killed you. Ludwig is kinda a scary guy," Alfred mused. Feliciano blinked in confusion. It was almost their turn to check out.

"What? Ludwig isn't scary! Ludwig tells me stories, and he plays soccer with me, and he walks me to class so I don't get lost, and he checks under my bed for monsters every night! He's the best! That's why I want to make Valentine's Day _really_ special for him," Feliciano said sincerely. Alfred smiled.

"No worries. We'll get Lovino's help, and we'll make this Valentine's Day so awesome that Ludwig and Arthur won't _ever_ forget it!" Alfred said, once more speaking a little too loudly. The grocery store patrons glanced at him again, as if trying to decide if he _really_ was who they thought he was.

Oblivious to the attention he was drawing, Alfred helped Feliciano check out and they quickly carried their bags of tomatoes out to the waiting cab.

USUK

Feliciano and Alfred finally managed to find Lovino scribbling curse words on the bathroom stalls. At first he blew them off ("Check the door, you fairies—this is the _men's_ restroom") but his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at the sight of the bright, beautiful tomatoes. Too late, he realized his mistake and tried to look nonchalant. He went back to his rather elaborate drawing of Antonio's name and cell phone number, accompanied by the message 'I love sucking penis. Call me.'

"That's not very nice, Lovi," Feliciano said. "You should be nice to your roommate!"

"Oh yeah? Well you're a little _too_ nice to_ your_ roommate. You probably peel him potatoes and feed them to him by hand like some sort of stupid fucking slave."

"What is _up_ with you guys and vegetables? First tomatoes, now potatoes…I'm just really confused," Alfred grumbled. Lovi barely spared him a glance.

"You? Confused? Impossible!" Lovino replied with thick sarcasm. Of course, neither Feliciano nor Alfred had a talent for detecting sarcasm. Alfred waved animatedly in Lovino's general direction.

"No, I mean it dude. You better have some really good advice for us, 'cause so far you just seem angry and obsessed with vegetables."

Lovino sighed, as if not quite believing someone like Alfred could exist, before snatching a tomato from his brother and capping his marker.

"_Fine_. The best thing to do on Valentine's Day is to sing your boyfriend a song. You know—something really fucking romantic," Lovino said, munching happily into the shiny fruit.

Feliciano seemed to be considering the idea, but Alfred frowned.

"I _can't_ sing. Besides, I sing in the shower all the time around Arthur and lately he's started plugging up the crack under the door with a towel so he doesn't have to hear me 'wail like a cat in heat'—his words, not mine," Alfred said with a wince. Lovino glared.

"Too much information, Blondie. I really don't want to fucking know what you do in the shower and what your uptight little roommate plugs you with."

"But I didn't say—"

Alfred's protest was drowned out by Lovino's loud munching and bragging.

"I'm telling you, if you do it the right way, you can make _anybody_ fall for you with one of those sappy, shitty love songs. It happens all the time in romantic movies—not that I watch those. They're for fucking homos like you two."

"Before you get anymore tomatoes…prove it," Feliciano said, having a rare stroke of brilliance. Lovino eyed him up, as if trying to decide whether or not it would be simpler to just tackle his younger brother and steal the rest of the tomato goodness, but in the end, his confidence in his own brilliance won out.

"Sure. Point me towards any dumb bitch and I'll make her fucking swoon," Lovino bragged. Feliciano, however, was smiling innocently…but there was a strange gleam to his eyes that even Alfred noticed. It was almost as if (though this seemed impossible) Feliciano was looking a little…intelligent.

"That won't prove anything. You said it would make _anybody_ fall for you, and guys are harder to impress than girls, yes? So if you want the rest of these, show us that it works on _him_," Feliciano said, pointing over Lovino's shoulder.

Slowly, Lovino half-turned to see the swirling letters of his roommate's name scrawled across the stall in shiny black ink. Steeling his resolve, and unwilling to let the challenge go, Lovino shrugged with false bravado.

"That fucking queer Antonio? Sure. Whatever. He'd _definitely_ fall for it."

"Then let's see it," Alfred said, smiling at the prospect of Lovino humiliating himself in song. Surely, there was no way his crazy idea could actually work.

"_Fine_. Let's go," Lovino growled.

Sharing curious and amused glances, Feliciano and Alfred followed the other boy out of the bathroom and towards the music hall, where Antonio could usually be found.

When they entered, Roderich was playing on the baby grand like usual, and Antonio was conversing with his band mates quietly across the room. He had clearly just finished playing a session with Gabriel and Celio. Upon noticing Alfred's entrance, Antonio's band mates quickly left through another door, shooting scowls at Alfred. The tall athlete smirked in pride at Celio's cowardly retreat.

Shaking his head as he watched them go, Antonio strolled across the room and offered them a laid-back smile.

"If you came to hear me play, you just missed it, Lovino," Antonio said casually. Lovino scowled.

"Don't say that and make it sound like I come listen to you play like one of your fucking lovesick little fangirls. I've _never_ come listen to you play," Lovino growled. Antonio, however, just smirked.

"Maybe one day I'll get lucky, eh?"

"Antonio, my brother has something really important to do for you!" Feliciano said. Clearly intrigued, Antonio arched a slender brown eyebrow. Lovino glared at him sullenly.

"Piano kid—" Lovino barked.

"I have a _name_, and I am in the middle of a _practice_, so if you'd be so kind as to—"

"Play that sappy song from _Titanic_," Antonio ordered.

"_What_? Absolutely not. That's ridiculously below my skill level and offensive to my refined ear," Roderich retorted.

"If you don't know how to fucking play it, then you could just say as much," Lovino said with mock sweetness. Roderich glared over the top of the piano and then a second later, his talented hands banged out the overplayed love song's melody.

Antonio was grinning, the smile threatening to widen even further as Lovino cleared his throat, tugged a bit nervously at his collar, and blushed an adorable shade of dark red while Roderich finished the opening bars (which he'd embellished a ridiculous amount in a flashy show of skill).

When Lovino sang, he seemed to gain some confidence. He met Antonio's eyes directly, sincerely, and though he still looked vulnerable and uncomfortable, singing allowed him to express a softness that the other boy was typically unable to show. Alfred was a little confused as to why Lovino knew all the words to the cheesy love song from _Titanic_ if he claimed to be such a bad ass, but he was distracted from the query by the way Antonio had begun to smile at Lovino—as if there was something truly special happening between them at that very moment.

As the song ended, Alfred was left feeling impressed that Lovino had been hiding such a clear, strong voice and that he'd actually had the balls to go through with serenading Antonio. But it hadn't been Lovino's daring that was in question—it was the effectiveness of his Valentine's Day idea.

"So? What did you think?" Feliciano chirruped. Lovino had moodily crossed his arms over his chest, glaring off to the side as if he didn't care what criticism Antonio might offer. It struck Alfred how different they were—Lovino was aggressive and foul tempered, essentially a screw-up, while Antonio was talented and likeable.

For a moment, the sight of two very different people swept up in their awkward feelings for each other reminded Alfred of his own relationship with Arthur. While he didn't think singing was the way to go, he definitely felt like he'd learned something valuable from Lovino's show of courage.

Love was about putting yourself out there. Feeling uncharacteristically sappy, Alfred chuckled loudly and gave Lovino a slight push towards Antonio.

"Come on, dude! He just sung his little heart out! Kiss him already!"

And much to Lovino's embarrassment, Antonio did exactly that.

Feliciano cheered and gave Alfred a high five.

"The Hero Club Mission to help my big brother has been a huge success! Yay us!"

Alfred enthusiastically returned the gesture with the words, "Yay! We helped them hook up! Wait…when did we start trying to do _that_? I thought Lovino was supposed to help _us_."

"That too. I know just what I'll sing for Ludwig! This is going to be a really great Valentine's Day!" Feliciano said.

"Would you two shut the fuck up? I'm _trying_ to be kissed here and it's a little fucking difficult with you two little bitches whining in the background!" Lovino snapped. He was still wrapped up in Antonio's arms, and the taller boy merely flashed them a warm smile over Lovino's shoulder.

"Thanks for coming with Lovino to give him confidence. I'm sure Ludwig and Arthur will love whatever it is you decide to do for them. It will be special as long as it comes from the heart…like Lovino's beautiful song."

"Shut the fuck up," Lovino growled.

"Oh, come on, it was cute!" Antonio jibed. Alfred and Feliciano left the roommates bickering in the music room—Antonio trying to make Lovino admit how long he'd had his crush while Lovino insisted the song had been just something he felt like doing, and it didn't mean anything, and kissing Antonio did _not_ make him a fucking queer…though it apparently made Antonio one.

"Sheesh…I guess Lovino is better at romance than I gave him credit for, but I still have to think of something for Arthur. Now it's gotta be really good, because I've avoided his calls all day and he's going to be seriously pissed at me when I can't tell him what I've been up to."

"Just tell him you went to the movies with me and Kiku and Ludwig. We'll back up your story!" Feliciano offered.

"Really? Thanks man! That's a good idea, and it would explain why I didn't have my phone on. You're a genius!"

"Thanks! That's so nice! Most people say that I'm dumber than a small hamster."

"That's kind of a strange comment to hear from more than one person," Alfred replied. "Calling someone a 'hamster brain' isn't exactly your typical insult."

"Yeah I know, right? But I get it all the time. Anyways! I'll see you later. It was really fun going to the _movies_!"

"What movie? Oh! _That_ movie. Riiiight. See ya later, Feliciano—thanks for you and your bro's help today!"

"Anytime! After all, that's what a hero does, yeah?"

"Totally," Alfred said with a beaming smile, waving goodbye to the shorter, brunet boy as they parted ways. When Alfred finally did confront Arthur, he was reminded once again of how terrible he was at lying—telling Arthur he'd gone to see a movie with Feliciano, Ludwig, and Kiku made his boyfriend seem strangely upset and withdrawn for the rest of the night, and nothing Alfred said or did could coax his boyfriend out of his depressed mood.

Now, cheering Arthur up with an awesome valentine felt even more important than ever. Lost in his own thoughts, Alfred spent the evening trying to think of something really bold and special. Finally, after Arthur had gone to bed alone, Alfred had an idea. He didn't realize that Arthur lay awake in bed across the room while Alfred was distracted by his scheming. Arthur was waiting for Alfred to join him like usual, but when he didn't come to bed, eventually Arthur fell asleep without the familiar weight of his boyfriend behind him.

**A/N: **I wanted to keep going with this, but the chapter will be massive if I do. So, more Valentine's hijinks and confusion in the next chapter! Now that I'm (mostly) done moving, I should have some more free time this coming weekend to work on the fic. I'm really excited to write the next part, and I'm sorry updates have been slow for awhile!

On a side note, the Cupid costume was as close as I could get to putting Arthur in an angel outfit. I am _ridiculously_ in love with the idea of him going around in a short white robe and glittery wings spreading sappy love messages. ^.^


	37. A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter 37

On Thursday, with only two days left before the Sweetheart Ball, Laura finally tracked down Alfred. Of course, by that point, it was already too late.

"Hey Laura! The calendar looks great—they seem to be really selling!" Alfred said happily, though it was obvious he was slightly distressed. Laura looked a little sheepish.

"I tried to find you to warn you," she said, even as a girl Alfred had never met before came pushing between them, jabbing a pen in Alfred's face.

"Hey sexy! Sign my calendar!" she requested girlishly, as her friends down the hall burst out in high pitched giggling. Blushing dark red, Alfred gave her a hesitant smile and accepted the pen, hastily scrawling his name across the front of the calendar. That had been what Laura was trying to warn him about. She had cropped a photo of him from his shoot with Mattie and it graced the cover of the calendar. He was dressed only in his jeans, shirtless, biting a little nervously on his lip, but still managing to flash a hesitant smile. The camera loved him, and Laura had used photoshop to erase his few pimples and the shine of his braces. He looked _good_—more like his mother than he ever had before.

"I was going to warn you beforehand that you're on the cover, but you're a hard guy to track down!" Laura said, elbowing back in front of the next girl that had darted up with her marker extended.

"No, it's fine! You made me look really great," Alfred said, a little entranced by his own image.

"MOVE!" a loud voice boomed as suddenly Arthur appeared at Alfred's side, scattering the hopeful girls and slapping a copy of the calendar against Alfred's chest. "These _aren't_ your real photos." He directed a pointed glare at Laura, who shifted uneasily.

"Well, not exactly—I only altered small things, really," she defended.

"Relax, Artie. Photographers alter their photos all the time," Alfred said, accepting another request to sign the calendar from a dreamy eyed freshman. He was clearly beginning to warm up to all the attention.

"I _know_ that, but these idiots don't. Now all the girls on campus have _your_ picture pinned to the inside of their lockers when before they didn't even look twice at you! Doesn't that _annoy_ you? They're capricious affection is—"

"Hello Alfred," Kiku said softly, interrupting Arthur's miniature rant. Feeling the tension double, Laura cleared her throat awkwardly and gave a calendar to Alfred from the big stack in her arms.

"I'll just be going. Here's your free copy, Alfred. You really look great in these photos—you should totally look into modeling!" she said before darting off, safe from Arthur's further reproach.

"Oh, hey Kiku!" Alfred said with a big smile. He nodded to the calendar Kiku held. "Want me to sign your copy, too?" he joked. Kiku, however, pushed it forwards with a shiny marker balanced on top.

"Actually, I did," Kiku said, a light blush on his cheeks. Arthur scowled. Laughing, Alfred took the calendar and wrote, in big, loopy letters 'To my sexy friend Kiku! Love, Alfred!' followed by a huge, ridiculous smiley face. Arthur's glare faded into a frown and he glanced away. More freshmen girls in their class pressed in around them, trying to get Alfred's attention, and it was simply too much to take for Arthur. Surprising Alfred, Arthur pushed his way out of the throng and disappeared into the crowd of the hallway without another word.

"He does not seem to like it when you get attention," Kiku observed calmly. Alfred sighed in worry, but was quickly distracted by another girl shoving a calendar at him.

"He's been really moody this week over the strangest things. I haven't figured out what's really bugging him yet. I'm sure he'll tell me after class today," Alfred said.

"Alfred, could I talk with you before lunch?" Kiku asked. Alfred nodded.

"Sure! I hope nothing's wrong…"

"No, it is nothing like that. I just wanted to ask your opinion on something," Kiku said. Alfred flashed his friend a smile and was distracted by yet another request to sign his name over his airbrushed photo.

"Okay, well, we can meet up on the football field. How about that?"

"That sounds good. I will see you there."

Alfred's day only got more hectic as he went to his morning classes. He was worried to note that Arthur was absent from the one class they shared in the morning, and the calendar seemed to be _everywhere_. He got a chance after third period to check his phone and saw (in addition to several missed calls from his parents) he was apparently tabloid headlines again—though for once, they were positive.

_**Alfred Jones is the Sexy Star of Valentine's Day! **_

_**Goodbye Awkward, Hello Gorgeous!**_

_**Teen Heartthrob Alfred Jones is Dating a Prince!**_

The photos were all over the internet, and the calendar sales were already through the roof. Laura had been quoted in a few articles explaining that they hadn't printed enough, but that more of the calendars would be available soon.

It was strange, having people who had never noticed him before suddenly stare at him so intently. He'd known for awhile now what it felt like to be a celebrity—to be constantly supervised and hounded by cameras, but now he was getting a taste of the rest of it. _Everyone_ wanted to talk to him, to compliment him, and to ask him if he had any plans for Valentine's Day. He had to be extremely sneaky to make it out to the football field to meet Kiku when the time came.

"Man, today has been so crazy!" Alfred said with a laugh. Kiku gave him a smile and led him to the bleachers, where they sat fairly close together. Kiku began to unload a strange little lunchbox from his bag, which turned out to be full of homemade snacks.

"Are we having a picnic? Awesome! Your cooking is the best!" Alfred praised happily, smiling at the chopsticks handed his way and the containers filled with yummy Japanese foods.

"I am glad you like it," Kiku replied with a blush. Alfred popped open his rice container and dug in heartily. "So what did ya wanna talk about?" he asked in between bites.

"Ah…I wanted your advice," Kiku said. Alfred looked surprised.

"_My_ advice? You know I'm like the worst student here, right?" he said with a self-depreciating laugh. Kiku just smiled a little, and took a bite of his own food.

"It is not school advice. You see…I have a friend…and he has a crush on someone."

"Ooooh, is he gonna tell her on Valentine's Day?" Alfred asked.

"Actually, he is a boy, and his crush is a boy, too," Kiku said. Alfred blinked in surprise but smiled.

"Well that's cool. It's kinda weird how many guys have come out this year, don't ya think?" Alfred mused. "I mean, I felt like me and Mattie and Francis and Arthur were the only ones, but now I know a lot of gay guys here."

"It isn't so uncommon anymore. There is less reason to hide," Kiku replied. "Even if…one's family…might not be _entirely_ supportive…don't you think it is worth it to find love?"

"Totally," Alfred said with a bright smile.

"So you think this _friend_ of mine…should tell the boy how he feels?" Kiku asked.

"Well, I mean, he should be smart about it. If it's one of the guys on the rugby team, probably not," Alfred joked. "They're fine with me and Berwald, but they can be dicks about it sometimes."

Kiku smiled mysteriously. "What if…this person…is already in a relationship?"

"Oh…well I guess that makes it harder," Alfred said, chewing thoughtfully. Kiku merely nodded.

"But my friend thinks he might…well…he feels like he might really love him," Kiku said. Alfred gave him a sad smile.

"Well, then he's gotta speak up! Maybe nothing will come of it, but if he's really in love, he should say something. Maybe his crush isn't happy and he's been waiting for your friend to make a move—maybe _they_ really belong together. Ya never know!"

Unseen underneath the bleachers, Arthur felt his heart constrict as if a giant fist was squeezing it as hard as possible. Brushing away the tears from his eyes, he fled the field, leaving his boyfriend and Kiku to their romantic picnic and the confession that was sure to come any moment. His heart couldn't bear to hear it.

USUK

When Alfred finally made it back to the dorm, his things were in the hallway. Only this time, as fast as Arthur was chunking it out, random girls were snatching up his T-shirts and his jerseys, crowing loudly that they were going to sleep with them and then sell them to the tabloids.

"Hey! Give me back my stuff! Arthur, what the hell are you doing?" Alfred said. Arthur, however, merely chunked out another armful of clothing, kicking it as it fluttered to the hallway floor. Mattie stood nearby, looking worried, while Francis half-heartedly tried to fend off the girls trying to steal Alfred's things. Scooping his stuff up, Alfred forced his way inside the bedroom and dropped his armload onto the floor before slamming the door behind himself. Arthur moved to the bed and sat, completely tense, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Alfred demanded.

"Don't yell at me! You're the one being stupid and selfish and self-absorbed! One lousy, fake picture and all the sudden you're signing autographs and…and…"

"Are you _serious_? You're angry because people like my photo? If I had screwed up, I could understand you getting mad and throwing my stuff around, but I _haven't_, and now girls I don't even know are snatching up my boxers out there!"

"Shut _up_! I don't want to hear about the girls, or the stupid photos, or—or—or about _any _of it! Just leave me alone!"

"Ugh, fine! You're not making any sense, and you know what? With all my crap in the hallway, I don't exactly wanna stay in here and listen to you yell at me when I haven't done anything! When you're done PMSing, you can come find me," Alfred shouted, slamming the door after he exited.

"Alfred…" Mattie began, but Alfred would hear none of it. Angrily, he began to snatch up his things and stuff them into his gym bag.

"I _don't_ want to talk about it. Just help me get my stuff, okay?" Alfred demanded, stuffing his clothing aggressively into his bag.

"But Alfred…tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Do you really want to be fighting with him like this?" Matthew reminded gently. Alfred, however, was still far too upset. Stuffing the last of his clothing into his bag, he swung it over his shoulder and stormed off down the hall, towards Ivan's room.

"Ya know what? I'm starting to _really_ hate Valentine's Day!" Alfred said over his shoulder.

Francis looped a supportive arm around Matthew's hips and kissed the shorter boy's golden waves.

"Come on, _mon ami_. They will have to fix this on their own."

"They're both idiots," Mattie fretted. Francis nodded.

"Yes, but that is simply how they are. Don't worry yourself over it. I'm sure they'll be back to normal in a few hours—if even that long."

Biting his lip worriedly, Mattie shook his head.

"I don't think so…but I hope you're right."

USUK

Arthur adjusted the too-short cupid robe for the millionth time, trying to tug it further down over his arse without much luck. His sandaled feet slapped angrily along the hallway as he marched along, looking more like a demon than a cherub. Spotting his prey, he pulled back the arrow and launched it skillfully from his glittery bow.

"_Merde_! What the hell?" Francis shouted, already massing his aching head. Smirking in satisfaction, Arthur stomped the rest of the way down the hall and retrieved his arrow.

"Mattie says he loves you even though you're a flirtatious, womanzing ponce," Arthur spat. Francis scowled.

"I am fairly certain that was _not_ my boyfriend's message."

"You get the general idea," Arthur ground out, before continuing down the hallway. With no small amount of frustration, he managed to work a silky teddy bear free of his large sack and hurled that at Francis's head, too.

"You should make up with your lover boy soon, Arthur! You are a dick without him!" Francis called out loudly down the hallway. In response, Arthur flicked up his middle finger. Then he adjusted his glittery wings.

The rest of his afternoon went in a similar manner until finally, he found the one person he was really looking for. His sack was almost entirely empty now, as he'd done his duty and delivered all of his share of the stupid valentines for the council. The one remaining in his bag was personal, and now he almost didn't want to deliver it at all.

But a pained, heartbroken, desperate part of his heart insisted, so there he was.

Alfred stood in the empty hallway with his backpack over his shoulder, eyeing Arthur with one slender, raised brow. He still looked a little annoyed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

"Did it hurt when you fell out of heaven?" Alfred asked cheekily. Arthur glared.

"Shut up, you stupid tosser," Arthur snapped. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I guess you're still mad at me for whatever it is I've done that you won't tell me about?" Alfred assessed. Arthur's scowl only deepened. Its effect was somehow less because of his ridiculous costume.

"I'm here to…to give you your valentine. I made it myself, in craft club." Arthur's voice had changed, and now he sounded on the verge of tears. Alfred sighed, clearly uncomfortable seeing Arthur so upset.

"Arthur—" he tried, but it was useless. Arthur shoved the gift into Alfred's chest, much in the same way girls had been pushing calendars at him all week. Alfred looked at it and smiled, remembering the photo inside the frame as one that he had snapped with his phone a long time ago, when he and Arthur had been lying in bed studying together, and they'd gotten distracted taking silly photos instead. The frame was decorated with movie stubs and little mementos of their relationship that made him smile. In this particular photo, Arthur was being crushed against Alfred's side, who was grinning boyishly. Pressed against his Alfred in the circle of his arm, Arthur was hiding a soft, loving smile. They hadn't been dating back then, and seeing them like that—him so oblivious to what he was missing out on, and Arthur wearing that smile that made it so obvious…

"If you were going to dump me for Kiku, I wish you'd done it then. I wish you'd done it before I fell in love with you. I wish you'd left me before it didn't hurt so damn much to see you leaving," Arthur accused.

"What? Is _that_ what this is about? Arthur, that's ridiculous. I'm not dumping you for anyone!"

"Don't tell me it's ridiculous! I _saw_, Alfred. I was there on the field when you sat in the bleachers together. I've spent more time talking to your voicemail this week than I have talking to _you_, and on top of all that, thanks to a _stupid_ airbrushed photo that doesn't even do you justice, all the _stupid_ girls in this school that you wanted to date so badly at the start of the year now are begging for your autograph. I'm not dumb, Alfred. I see where this is going. I just wish it didn't hurt me so badly," Arthur turned sharply on his heel then and ran, tearing off his cupid wings as he did so, flinging aside his bow and arrow as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Arthur! Wait!" Alfred cried, but it was too late. The other boy clearly didn't want to talk about it further, and all Alfred could do was pick up his angel's discarded wings with a weary sigh. The auction was tomorrow, and at this rate, he didn't even know if Arthur would stay in town.

USUK

The loud music thrummed in his ears—a sporty, popular song played at games that made everyone in the audience go wild stomping and cheering. Alfred tugged at the tiny shorts one last time before forcing a bright smile and emerging onto the runway. The student body was dressed up for the ball, and the party had been going great with one teeny, tiny little flaw. Arthur had left for home on Friday, and so Alfred was at the dance solo.

Now it was time for the auction, and his boyfriend was still nowhere in sight. Arthur hadn't answered any of his calls, but Alfred had left him a long voice message reassuring him that he was _not_ cheating on him, nor was he leaving him, and he hoped that Arthur would come to the dance so he could give him his valentine.

All of these thoughts tumbled around in his head as he went through the motions—he gave his butt a little shake, he flexed his muscles, and he smiled at all the cheering girls. He had a duty to the club, and no matter how sad he was on the inside, he needed to do his fair share of the work.

He just hoped Kiku didn't bid on him. Arthur's words had finally clued him in, and now he was worried about what his friend might say to him at the end of the night. It seemed no matter what he did, he was going to hurt somebody's feelings before Valentine's Day was over.

He _really_ didn't like the holiday.

"Let's start the bidding at thirty pounds. Do I see—we have thirty! How about forty? Forty! To Kiku! Do I see fifty? Fifty pounds?" Already, that was far more than what anyone had bid on the other "slaves." The snooty girl that ran French club had won Francis for only twenty pounds. Not willing to spend his limited spending money on something he got for free, Matthew hadn't even bid, though he'd had a lot of fun laughing at Francis in his skimpy sex kitten costume.

"One hundred pounds," a clear voice rang out loudly, silencing a lot of the chatter from the students watching the auction.

Alfred dropped his silly pose and smiled genuinely at Arthur, who pushed past people until he stood directly beside Kiku.

"He's _mine_, and I won't share him with anyone, not even for a silly auction. So give up now. You already lost," Arthur said with a rather terrifying expression. Kiku narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but realized the position he was in and nodded his head briefly before leaving the crowd in his quiet way. On stage, Alfred winced. As the sale was finalized, Arthur met his eyes unsurely, his earlier confidence draining out of him in a fast rush. With the auction over, Alfred hopped down off the stage and made his way to Arthur's side. The other couples began drifting back to the dance floor, leaving them standing relatively alone by the catwalk.

"I've thought about it…and I've come to the realization that…just perhaps…I should have put more faith in you."

"Yep," Alfred agreed with a smile. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well? Don't _you_ have anything to say?"

"It's cute that you get all possessive of me?" Alfred tried. Arthur glared weakly. His grin broadening, Alfred tried again, "You made a really adorable cupid?"

"Thanks…I think…but that's not exactly what I'm fishing for. Why all the secrecy this week, Alfred? Why the date with Kiku?"

"I didn't realize that's what he was trying to do. I honestly didn't know, okay? Kiku's my friend, and I'm sad that he's got feelings like that for me because I don't return them, but I never purposefully led him on."

"So nothing happened when you went to the movies?"

"We didn't even go to the movies together—I was planning stupid valentine stuff with Feliciano and I didn't want to say what we were up to, 'cause I would have ruined the surprise. You _know_ I can't keep a secret to save my life."

"You…you were doing something for me?" Arthur asked, sounding once again on the verge of tears. Finally hopeful that he'd actually be allowed to touch him, Alfred wrapped his boyfriend up in his arms and squeezed him reassuringly.

"I love you, Artie. Come on. Let's ditch the dance and go back to our room. I can put some clothes on and give you your valentine."

"I love you, too, and getting out of here sounds good," Arthur agreed, wiping at his eyes discreetly as Alfred laced their hands together. Across the room, dancing elegantly with Francis's arms wrapped around him, Matthew watched them go with a smile.

After Alfred had put on some pajama pants and an old T-shirt, the boys sat cross-legged on their bed and Arthur waited for his gift. With a nervous smile, Alfred pulled a simple book from behind his back.

"Artie, you're the only one I want. That hasn't changed this week, and it won't ever change. That's why I finally decided this was the best valentine to give to you."

"Hey! This is _my_ book. You borrowed this at the start of term and never returned it. I've been looking for this. You've had it all this time?"

"Yeah. It's gonna sound really dumb, but at first I kept it because you left this note inside—guess you were using it as a bookmark. It was one of your to-do lists that you're always making, but this one was about all the things you were going to do at school to be the best. Remember it?"

Arthur blushed slightly at the note dangling from Alfred's fingers that now seemed childish in hindsight. He'd written it the summer before coming to school, back when only grades and accolades mattered to him. It said things like 'Join Student Council' and 'Make Good Grades.' He'd honestly forgotten all about it.

"I remember it, but what does that have to do with us?"

"At first, I thought I had a secret advantage by having your list. That's why I didn't give the book back. If I returned it, you might notice that your list was gone. I thought if I did all the things you said, I'd be as awesome as you."

"Alfred..."

"But I kept screwing up the list, and I kept screwing up at being your friend, and so I almost gave it back to you, back around Christmas time." Arthur sighed and a few stray tears clouded up his green eyes.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I added my own goal to the list, and it was something I just _couldn't_ give up on," Alfred said, a determined smile lighting up his blue eyes.

"What? Winning a game?" Arthur asked, his confusion and some of his hurt from the past week evident. Alfred just smiled and shook his head as he shifted his thumb to reveal what he'd added to the list, at the start of the year.

"Be Arthur's...best friend?" the British royal read in surprise.

"See, I realized that none of the other stuff you put on the list mattered to me after awhile. All I've cared about this year—the _only_ thing that really matters to me now—is being important to _you_. When I saw how jealous you got, I realized I'd somehow done the most important thing on the list. So you can have your book and your bookmark back now. Whenever you doubt if I love you, then you can look at the to-do list and see that out of all the things I could be doing at this school...being your best friend, being the boy you love...that's the only thing that matters to me."

"Alfred...I..."

"And don't get mad at me, but I wrote something in your book."

"What?" Arthur blurted, momentarily distracted from the most romantic moment of his whole life so far. He took the book and flipped it open like a parent worried that harm had been done to his baby.

Sure enough, words were scratched on the inside cover in the best penmanship Alfred could manage:

_At the start, you gave me your book. Now I'm returning it with my heart._

The to-do list drifted into Arthur's line of vision, allowing Arthur to see that 'Be Arthur's Best Friend' was checked off. Then Alfred flipped the little note, and revealed the carefully drawn heart on the back of the paper. He tucked it safely back inside the pages of the Shakespeare volume, and leaned forward to kiss Arthur's choppy bangs.

"Did I do good? You're not gonna dump me because of a terrible valentine, are you?" Alfred asked hopefully, his nerves finally showing. Clutching the book to his furiously beating heart, Arthur slung his free arm around Alfred's tall shoulders and pulled him into an ardent, adoring kiss.

"That was perfect, Alfred. Please…I want to be with you. I was so scared this week—I felt like you were slipping through my fingers. I never want to feel like that again," Arthur pleaded, in between pressing desperate little kisses across Alfred's jaw. The taller boy smiled lovingly at him and caught his lips, begging entrance and caressing Arthur's tongue with his own.

Arthur leaned back on the bed and Alfred followed him, settling his weight on top of the smaller boy so that he felt just how _there_ he was—so that he knew that Alfred belonged to him and wasn't going anywhere. Just to make doubly sure, Arthur hooked his leg around Alfred's hips and pulled him in impossibly closer. They began working each other's clothes off desperately, sliding against each other's skin with pure need, sucking, licking and biting at whatever parts got too close to their mouths.

"Arthur…I want you to _know_ how much I'm yours…I want you to…"

"Alfred—"

"I'm sure. I'm ready," Alfred reassured, rolling so that now Arthur was sprawled on top of him, still held securely in the circle of his arms.

"I know you're uncomfortable with the idea of—"

"Arthur, just make love to me, okay? Please? I trust you."

Arthur slanted his mouth over Alfred's in a desperate, loving kiss, simply unable to get enough of the other boy. His fingers tangled in Alfred's hair and Alfred's hand slid between them to undo the button on Arthur's jeans. Soon, they were clothed in nothing but sheets and a light sheen of sweat. Alfred parted his legs, a dark stain of color making his cheeks pop in the darkness. Lovingly, oh-so-carefully, Arthur slipped the first finger in after slicking it down with lubricant.

"Alright, love?" he asked, his voice deep and husky. Alfred was panting, and his eyes were unfocused, but he nodded. His erection strained between them, and Arthur roughly palmed it with his free hand, knowing just how Alfred liked it. The action earned him a needy moan, and he slipped in another finger.

"Urgh! Arthur!" Alfred gasped as Arthur's fingers curled and pressed deep inside him, in time with Arthur's tugs on Alfred's beautiful, reddened cock.

"I'm putting it in now. Tell me if I need to stop, okay?" Arthur said. He saw nothing but trust and adoration shining in Alfred's cerulean blue eyes, so he swallowed thickly and lined himself up. With a blissful moan, he slid into Alfred's tight heat, feeling the muscle flutter and stretch around him, drawing him in even tighter. A ceaseless stream of pleasure noises escaped his wet lips, while Alfred gasped and rocked against him as he took over fisting himself with hard strokes.

Arthur didn't last long with such stimulation, and he slammed into Alfred hard as his balls tightened and the muscles of his legs seized up in a moment of pure bodily bliss. He came deep inside the other boy, every inch of their bodies pressed together, so close that not even air could come between them. Sparkling blue eyes, wet with tears, filled Arthur's vision and he cried, too, because what he had with this boy was something bigger than they could even understand. It didn't matter that they were young, or that sometimes they fought and hurt each other senselessly, because there were moments like _this_, when they knew with every fiber of their beings that what was between them was love—unwavering and ever-true.

Arthur _knew_ then, without any need for more reassurance, that Alfred was his…just as he would always be Alfred's.

**A/N: **And that's a wrap! Not for the story, but for the Kiku arc. I still have to cover March through May before the first year of this story officially concludes. I haven't yet decided if I will continue on into second year. My plan is to wrap up year one with a happy ending, but leave it open to continue if I so chose after taking a break and working on some other fics. Also, I know I didn't show Feli serenading Ludwig, but you'll just have to use your imaginations. That's one couple that I like watching, but I have _no_ interest whatsoever in writing them. Though, I did have fun writing Feli and Alfred teaming up, because the two of them are so adorably airheaded.


	38. Spring Fling

Chapter 38

The arrival of spring at World Academy was celebrated with a troupe of famous political guest speakers, a school tour of Westminster Abbey, and preparations for the World Fair. All of these events coincided with election campaigns for student council, which meant Arthur, Yao, and Basch were extremely busy with council business, so much so that Arthur had quit football practice.

Alfred was a little glad of that—not because he was doing anything inappropriate with Kiku, but it was a little awkward now whenever the three of them were in the same room together. Perhaps because of that fact, Kiku had stopped attending student council meetings just as Arthur had dropped football.

Since the unspoken confession on Valentine's Day, Alfred had been walking on eggshells around Kiku, not quite sure what to say and usually making the situation even worse.

"So…nervous about the game?" Alfred asked. Kiku glanced at him and then moved to refill his water bottle at the cooler. They'd been playing hard, but Kiku played the hardest. It seemed as though he was pouring himself into football, perhaps to escape his own feelings.

"Not really," he replied quietly, taking a sip of water. Alfred bit his lip, occupying himself by playing with a ball that had rolled near his feet.

"How did your date go?" Alfred asked, a little hopeful looking. Kiku sighed in a slightly annoyed fashion.

"You paid someone to ask me out. How do you think it went?" Kiku asked with a small measure of reproach in his tone.

"He seemed cool, though! And he's Korean. You _love_ Korean dramas."

"I loved watching them with you, Alfred. Please…you don't have to act this way around me. I have feelings for you, but you are happy with Arthur, right?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"Then that is all there is to it. It was wrong of me to try and win your affection. When I first came here, I was a little jealous of Arthur. His parents and family live right here, while I am very far from my home. He excels in class without much effort. He took charge in student council when I was too embarrassed to even speak. He joined the rugby team and instantly became the star, and he snagged the cutest boy in school before I even figured out who you were. I think…somewhere along the way…it became less about a crush on you, and more about a competition with Arthur."

"Wow…didn't see _that_ one coming," Alfred replied. He was shocked that Kiku had spoken so much, but relieved that the other boy didn't seem too crushed over being turned down.

"I have learned a lot this year. It was…not what I expected," Kiku concluded quietly. Alfred got the impression the other boy thought about things a lot more deeply than he did, and was likely already neatly categorizing the crazy year into lessons learned and mistakes not to be made again.

Alfred, for his part, felt grateful that he'd merely survived. He knew he had changed significantly, and his relationships with his peers had changed, too, but it seemed too impossible to pin down hows or whys.

"Do you think next year will be this hard?" Alfred asked, kicking the ball up idly into his arms. Kiku flashed him a small smile.

"I have heard it's a little easier next year. At least, that is what the counselor tells me," Kiku said, taking another long sip from his water bottle.

"Speaking of counselors, have you done your academic advising session yet?" Alfred asked. He didn't share many classes with Kiku, and before things had gotten so messy, they had both expressed the desire to take more classes together in their sophomore year. Alfred didn't see why that should change as long as it wasn't too difficult for Kiku. He _seemed_ okay with everything, at the very least.

"I have not. I would still be interested in taking that elective course on painting with you…if you'd like," Kiku said. Alfred beamed.

"Yeah! Arthur's gonna be really proud of me for taking an art class. I'm still playing football next year, though—_American_ football, _not_ soccer," Alfred said.

"Good. I enjoy watching you play. You have great heart," Kiku praised. Alfred smiled brightly and lightly tossed Kiku the ball.

"You too! Now are you gonna teach me that trick or what?" Alfred asked, and in his mind, all was once again right with the world. Kiku smiled, and if he was a little heartbroken, he didn't let Alfred see.

USUK

Matthew was not in student council, nor any really demanding extracurricular activities for that matter, but he _did_ have an obligation that had been keeping him incredibly busy as of late.

He carefully glanced down the empty hallway, making sure the coast was clear, before ducking into the empty classroom.

"Hey teddy bear," Gilbert greeted with a wicked smile of delight. Mattie flushed under the hot gaze and cleared his throat nervously.

"I heard about your t-test scores. I'm really p-proud of you, Gilbert," Mattie said, managing to get the compliment out without _too_ much of a stutter. Gilbert's smile changed—it was more sincere—and the platinum haired skater stood smoothly and crossed the room.

"It's all because of you, teddy bear," Gilbert said, his reddish eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and delight. Matthew blushed and took a step backwards, not wanting to get _too_ close. Gilbert followed him. "Come on, let me thank you properly," he suggested.

"N-no, Gilbert, I've told you a thousand times…that's not what this is about," Matthew said.

"Yeah yeah—you want to be a teacher, so you want the tutoring experience. You've given me the official story before."

"And it hasn't changed, so let's sit down and get started, okay?" Mattie said. Gilbert gave a long, dramatic sigh of disappointment and returned to sitting atop a desk, crossing his arms casually over his rock band T-shirt.

"Alright, let's talk some French," Gilbert said. Knowing this was about as agreeable as Gilbert would be, Matthew hastily pulled the beginning French text book from his backpack and flipped it open to their most recent chapter. As he was hunched over the text, searching for the spot on the list of verbs where they had last left off, a hand suddenly splayed in front of his vision on the page. Matthew let out a little squeak of surprise and shot up, only to realize Gilbert's face was just inches from his own.

"Y-yes?" Matthew asked hesitantly. Gilbert stared at him for a long time, considering his soft hair and his warm eyes.

"I changed my mind. I passed my test—I want to celebrate with my tutor."

"What? No, I can't 'celebrate' with you again—I'm not using pot anymore. It was fun that first time, but it's really bad for you and it kills brain cells and—"

"Who said anything about pot? Can't we just go hang out? Or does your boyfriend not let you do that?" Gilbert asked smoothly. Matthew blinked in surprise.

"You want to…hang out? With me? But…why?" Mattie asked. Gilbert shrugged.

"Dunno, actually. You're kinda boring, and you care _way_ too much about your prissy boyfriend, and you have horrible taste in music…but I like you. You don't suck as bad as most of the asstards in this school," Gilbert declared, even as he re-packed Mattie's bag. "So come on—we're gonna go out tonight."

"I can't…I can't do that, Gilbert. Francis would be hurt, and—"

"Then invite him, too. Whatever, man. It's not a date. I know you hang out with a bunch of queers most of the time, but dudes can go hang out without butt fucking each other at the end of the night, ya know."

Blushing hotly, Matthew hesitated. It was stupid, and he didn't even _like_ Gilbert, not really, but…all the same…he wanted to accept the other boy's invitation. He desperately wanted to accept it. So what could it hurt? What was the worst that could happen? Francis could get mad at him for even asking, but at least he'd asked, right?

Gilbert found his phone in his backpack (scowled at the teddy bear charm hanging off of it ever-so-innocently) and flipped it open.

"Gilbert! Don't!"

"Hey! Frenchie? That you? Yeah, so I'm here trying to convince teddy bear to get outta this lame school for once in his life, and he's afraid to go have fun without you, so if you wanna come hang with us, meet us at the front of the school in ten, okay? Later!" And just like that, Gilbert snapped Mattie's phone shut.

Matthew swallowed thickly. Gilbert smiled.

"So let's go already—there's a concert going down at a pub not too far from here, and you don't have to be eighteen to get in."

"That…actually doesn't sound so bad," Mattie said. He walked with Gilbert to the front of the school, wondering how Francis was going to respond when he inevitably joined them. Then again, he was in a student council meeting and he might not be able to get out of it…

Matthew's phone rang again, and this time Mattie managed to answer it before Gilbert could steal it again.

"_Mon cher?"_Francis's voice queried. He sounded both angry and concerned at the same time. Matthew winced, and scowled at Gilbert for putting him in his current predicament.

"It's me. I'm sorry about that. I…well…it's kind of a long story, but Gilbert wants me to go see some concert with him at a pub in London. I told him I'd only go if you came, too."

"_That's…sweet, Matthew. Though I'm not sure why you're talking to him at all in the first place," _Francis replied. Matthew kept silent, hoping he'd be able to gloss over that part.

"Heh, like I said…long story. It's funny actually. You see, I was…err…walking down the hallway, and he was, you know, coming the other way…and…then he asked me to go."

"…_Is that it? Because that's neither long nor funny,"_ Francis replied, a small measure of suspicion coloring his tone.

"A-are you gonna come or not? C-cause I really want to go," Matthew finally said, surprising Gilbert with his burst of forcefulness. The skater smirked at him in a proud sort of way. After Francis gave his reply, Matthew closed the phone and let out a sigh.

"Well?"

"He's coming. He'll meet us there," Matthew said. Gilbert's proud smirk turned mischievous.

"That was a big deal for you, huh? Talking to him like that?" Gilbert clarified. Mattie blushed and clutched his book bag strap a little tighter.

"N-no…not really. I mean, he doesn't control me or anything. I'm just not a very forceful person," Mattie said quietly. "Francis usually picks what we do, that's all. As long as I'm with him, I'm happy to—what? Why are you making that face?"

"Oh, continue. I'm just barfing a little in my mouth," Gilbert said with a sweet, fake smile. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Someone like you wouldn't understand. Relationships aren't evil. It's really nice having someone that cares about you."

"A-huh," Gilbert replied patronizingly. Matthew flushed with color.

"It _is_. Everything's just a big j-joke to you. You don't care about anything other than pot," Matthew replied frostily. He really didn't like the way Gilbert teased him, and a huge part of him wondered why he gave the other boy so many opportunities to do so.

"That's not true," Gilbert said, his voice suddenly turning serious. He paused in the hallway, turning to face Matthew straight on. The Canadian boy took a half-step backwards in surprise, and Gilbert reached out with surprising tenderness. He lightly trailed his fingers over Mattie's jaw (the nails of which were painted in chipped black nail polish) and gave him a strangely soft smile.

"Don't you see? I care about _you_."

For a long, breathless moment Mattie stood frozen, not sure what to do, feeling his world shake at the foundations…but then he noticed Gilbert's barely restrained smirk. He shoved the taller boy back as hard as he could manage.

"You're a _jerk_! Stop making fun of me because I believe in love!" Matthew scolded. Gilbert, however, cracked up at the hilarity of his own joke and greatly resembled a silver-haired hyena for a few seconds before he finally recovered. Matthew walked ahead at a faster pace, threatening to leave him behind. "I'm serious, Gilbert. If you're just going to be a d-dick about it, then I won't celebrate with you. I don't care how proud I am of you for making an 'A' on the test."

Gilbert's manic laughter softened into an amused smile and he jogged to catch up.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop teasing you if you stop going all sappy over Frenchie," Gilbert offered. Matthew sighed, but reluctantly shook the other boy's hand. By then, they had reached the front of the school and Francis was already there—looking concerned that maybe they'd left without him.

"Matthew!" he said, upon seeing their approach. The relief in his voice was evident. He scowled darkly at Gilbert as he wrapped Matthew up in a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead—all the while glaring at the eyesore of a skater punk.

"Relax, Frenchie, I haven't hurt your precious teddy bear, or exposed him to illegal substances, or let him suck my awesome dick," Gilbert reassured. Matthew winced, and Francis's hold on him grew uncomfortably tight.

"_Mon cher_, let's forget this. If you want to see a concert, I will get you tickets to any show in the world—back stage passes even. Just name the band and we'll go. You really do not have to suffer this idiot's company and stand in some disgusting, overcrowded English pub for the sake of a shitty band," Francis said, snobbery dripping off every word. Matthew scowled in irritation and untangled himself from Francis's arms.

"Francis, you may be dripping in money, but I'm not, and I can't afford to jet off whenever I feel like it. I like to do free things around town, and I really haven't seen much of London. All we ever do is go shopping," Matthew complained. Gilbert rolled his eyes in annoyance, as if regretting inviting the both of them. Francis scowled at him.

"But, darling, you _like _shopping."

"Yeah, but we can do other things, too. Please, Francis? Let's pretend we're normal teenagers for just this _one_ night, okay?" Matthew's pleading eyes did Francis in, and with a scowl he hailed a cab.

"Fine, if you want to go slumming, slumming we shall go," Francis said. "It's not like I was doing anything better tonight anyway," he added.

"How's planning going for the World Fair?"

"Oh! Let's talk about what you're reading in book club next!" Gilbert interjected with girlish giggle and an exaggerated bounce of excitement. "Then we can swap recipes for cookies and talk about boys!"

"Get in the cab, Gilbert," Matthew ordered, wondering what on earth had possessed him to go out in public with both Francis and Gilbert on the same night. Nothing good was going to come of it, that he was already realizing. Once in the cab, sandwiched awkwardly between the two boys who were as different as night and day, Matthew resorted to playing with his phone while Francis and Gilbert bickered over his head.

"Just _why_ exactly are you always hanging around _my_ boyfriend? Are you gay for him or something?" Francis asked casually. The cab driver glanced briefly at them in the rear view mirror, but his eyes quickly flicked back to the road. Matthew went back to texting Alfred, wishing he could sink into his seat and disappear.

"I can't tell you. He swore me to secrecy," Gilbert replied cheekily. Francis scowled at him.

"You're lying. _My_ Matthew wouldn't make secrets with _you_."

"Oh yeah? Well _my _teddy bear gets sick of you carrying him around in your purse all the time like he's a toy dog. Do you dress him up, too?" Gilbert shot back. Francis sneered, and Mattie only just managed to send Alfred the text about the concert before Francis lunged over him to shove Gilbert, knocking Mattie's phone out of his hands in the process.

"Francis!" Matthew said in exasperation, pushing Francis back to his seat and fumbling around for his phone. While he was bent forward, Gilbert nodded towards his ass and made a vulgar gesture with his tongue. When Matthew sat back up, Francis was glaring at the other boy so intensely that Matthew feared a fight was about to break out.

"Both of you, just stop already! Francis, just ignore him. He's just _trying_ to rile you up. And Gilbert? If you really want to hang out with me, you're going to have to be just a _little_ bit more mature."

For a tense few moments there was silence in the cab, and Matthew let out a shaky breath of air.

"So…like…how does this shit work?" Gilbert said, clearly unable to deal with more than a minute of silence.

"How does _what_ work?" Francis demanded snippily, clearly expecting a jab about homosexual relationships.

"You know…threesomes and shit. He's gonna be in the middle, right? 'Cause my dick's made for fuckin,' and my ass is an exit only."

"GILBERT!" Matthew exploded, uncharacteristically loud. Francis, however, was now smirking in amusement.

"I thought we were ignoring him?" Francis parroted Mattie's own words back to him. Matthew, however, was blushing so hotly that both Gilbert and Francis began to laugh at him.

"_Mon cher_…is _that_ what you've been scheming? You want to…spice things up a bit?" Francis asked. Matthew went from bright red to unnatural paleness. On his right, he had Francis's leering eyes and lecherous grin, and on his left, Gilbert was scooting closer and flashing that wicked smile.

"This isn't happening," Mattie said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. Meeting Gilbert's eyes, Francis tucked a lock of hair lovingly behind Mattie's ear.

"Though I question his taste, I can't say that I object to the idea. He's mine, of course. This would just be for fun…"

"There is someone else in this cab. Am I the only one that realizes that?" Mattie asked weakly. Gilbert's delighted smirk met Francis's look of perverted glee and Matthew felt two hands land on him almost simultaneously. On his shoulder, the warm, familiar caress of his boyfriend…on his inner thigh, the large, callused hand of his crazy student.

It seemed Francis and Gilbert had finally found their common ground—money and style aside, they were both just kinky perverts at heart.

Matthew's phone vibrated in his hand and he flipped open the screen almost desperately. Alfred's reply was like salvation in text format.

_**Cool! Artie's taking me to the concert, too. See ya there?**_

Before Francis could stop him, Matthew desperately texted, _**Yes, and I need your help!**_

"Now now, _mon cher_, that was naughty. You don't really want Alfred getting involved in our fun, do you? He'll ruin it," Francis pouted. The hand slid from his shoulder to the sensitive nape of his neck, and Francis's convincing purr was right against his ear.

The cab rolled to a stop and Gilbert hopped out, tossing the cab driver his fee before all but pulling Mattie out.

"Come on, teddy bear. I'm going to grind on you for everyone to see—including your golden boy."

"G-guys, it's not f-funny anymore! I'm glad you're not fighting, but we _aren't_ going to—" Matthew's protest was swiftly ended by the way Francis slipped one hand into his back pocket and gave his ass a squeeze. Gilbert silenced him by boldly stealing a kiss, scandalously sucking on Mattie's tongue even as his eyes shifted challengingly to Francis's. The French boy just smirked, delighting in the hot flush on Mattie's skin and his wide eyed look of shock. He pressed his lips against Mattie's neck and nibbled his way up, whispering to him even as Gilbert continued ravaging his mouth.

"I'm _ever_ so glad you called. You planned this, didn't you? You're _so_ fucking sexy when you pretend to be innocent," Francis purred. Gilbert finally released Matthew's lips with a wet sounding smack. He licked his own grin, looking very much like a cat who'd caught his canary.

"Innocent? This one? Fuck no. You know what—that's what it is. _That's_ what I like about you, teddy bear. You're so goody-two-shoes…but you've got pretty little slut written _all _over you."

And god help him, with both the stars of his wet dreams staring at him like they were going to eat him for dessert, Matthew was starting to feel the wild thing inside him beating furiously against his ribcage, desperate to be set loose. Did he really want Alfred to go all big brother on his misbehaving boyfriend and his wayward student?

After Gilbert's kiss, and with that hand caressing and squeezing at his ass so knowingly—so possessively, Matthew wasn't so sure that he did.

"F-fine…but I don't want anyone to know. Our classmates are here, so that means you have to back off Gilbert…at least until we get back to our room."

"That's no fair! How come he gets to play and I don't?" Gilbert pouted. Francis stuck out his tongue in what could only be called the epitome of maturity.

"_My_ boyfriend, stoner—not yours."

"Just come _on_, already. Let's see this stupid band so we can get back to the school!" Matthew said, surprising both his companions for the evening and leaving them to share their looks of surprise as he stomped off without them.

"I still think you're a stuck-up pretty boy," Gilbert clarified.

"And you're still a brain-dead stoner," Francis replied. Despite their harsh words, the boys exchanged anticipatory smirks.

USUK

Alfred smiled brightly when he spotted his friend, who looked a little flustered.

"Hey Mattie! Having fun? What was that text about?" Alfred asked, having to raise his voice over the sound of the band.

"Oh…j-just joking around. I'm here with Francis and Gilbert and they were being stupid," Matthew said, his blush darkening. Alfred, thankfully, didn't notice such things.

"Ah, okay then. Gilbert, huh? And Francis is okay with that?" he asked. Before Matthew could reply, Arthur appeared at Alfred's side and looped his arm around the taller boy's hips. He looked like he'd been thoroughly enjoying the music—his hair was wild and his green eyes were brighter than Matthew had ever seen them. Clearly he'd been dancing, too, as he looked sweaty and thirsty. Matthew squinted in the poor pub lighting, trying to discern if Arthur was _really_ wearing eyeliner, but after casually greeting him, the British royal took the drink from Alfred's hand and chugged it.

"Easy, Artie. Don't waste all your energy on the opening songs—the concert's still going for another hour!"

"Really? That long?" Matthew said, sounding slightly horrified. Finally, Francis and Gilbert appeared at his sides, and slightly awkward greetings were exchanged.

"Never thought I'd see _you_ here," Gilbert said to Arthur, eyeing his eye-liner, his studded outfit, and his wild green eyes. Next to him, Alfred looked totally clean cut and out of place, but the tall athlete seemed to be having a good time regardless. While he obviously didn't care either way for the music, he was enjoying fetching Arthur drinks and watching his boyfriend have so much fun.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to make terrible grades and smoke weed all the time to appreciate good music," Arthur replied a little disdainfully. Alfred eyed Gilbert with sudden intensity, his eyes slipping between Matthew and Gilbert in a way that made Matthew incredibly nervous.

The song changed, the tense moment passed, and whatever epiphany Alfred had been grasping at escaped him.

"Arthur likes to be up close to the stage. You guys coming with?" Alfred asked. Arthur was already tugging him back towards the packed crowd up front.

"No, we'll hang back I think. Have fun," Matthew said. He realized with surprise that the last possible person who could have bailed him out had just walked away.

"You didn't tell on us?" Francis asked. Mattie glanced at his boyfriend in shy embarrassment.

"We…um…don't have to stay for the _whole_ hour, do we?" he offered by way of answer. The sexy boys accompanying him for the night shared devilish grins.

"Nah…this band sucks anyway. Let's have a few rounds of drinks and then we can go, yeah?" Gilbert suggested, flashing his fake I.D. at them mischievously.

Grateful for the liquid courage, Matthew accepted his drink and nearly chugged it as quickly as Arthur had chugged his soda minutes before.

Up at the stage, Alfred glanced back a bit uneasily at Matthew.

"Hey, did you get a…I dunno…weird vibe from them?" Alfred asked. Arthur reluctantly turned around and glanced at the trio over the crowd.

"I _always _get a creepy vibe from Gilbert. It's probably something kinky and gross," Arthur said. Alfred's eyes widened in recognition and a boyish giggle escaped him.

"You don't think…all _three_ of them?"

"What? Oh _god. _You're probably right, by why the hell did you have to share _that _particular image? I mean…that's not something you'd ever want to _do_…right?"

"Huh? No way! I wouldn't share you with anyone…but I can't believe _Mattie_ would…"

"Well we don't know for sure, so let's not gossip like girls about it. What they do in their bedroom is their business and none of ours," Arthur replied, going back to his slightly awkward, totally endearing way of dancing to the music. Alfred watched him out of the corner of his eye, smiling in a way that was only a _little_ bit lovesick. A burly guy suddenly pushed into Arthur harder than was necessary and before Arthur could even snap at him, Alfred was between them, squaring off against the older man.

"Hey! Watch it!" Alfred growled protectively. The heavily tatted man just sneered and turned away, not interested in picking a fight with a teenager and landing himself in jail. Alfred turned back to Arthur, who flashed him a loving little grin.

"I could have handled it myself, you know," Arthur said. Alfred just grinned and kissed his boyfriend's cheek.

"Yeah…but that's my job. You just worry about your…err…dancing. If that's what you call that jerking, jumping thing you're doing," Alfred teased. Playfully, because the rock music seemed to bring out something fun spirited and youthful in Arthur, he stuck out his tongue at Alfred and went back to his jumping about and his out-of-rhythm fist pumping. Alfred just laughed and shook his head, happy to see Arthur cutting loose.

**A/N: **Mattie hadn't made an appearance lately, so I wanted to let you guys know what he's been up to. Honestly, I was planning for it to be a Gilbert Francis love triangle, but when I started writing the chapter, I was like 'I really don't think Gilbert would _want_ a relationship—at least not at sixteen.' So it morphed pretty naturally into the sort of thing both Gilbert and Francis _would_ be interested in at sixteen, and as for poor Matthew…well, I don't think he's all that upset about how things worked out.

And no, I didn't go into the details of the threesome because some things are just better left to the imagination, lol! Oh, and I'm sure some of you will feel the territory of threesomes is pretty "adult," and I agree, however, I heard about a few when I was in high school (and participated in one *cough cough*) so it _does_ happen, and younger and more often than you might think. If you didn't like the idea, of course, you're still more than welcome to say so!


	39. The End!

Chapter 39

The World Fair occurred on a bright Saturday morning, at the end of March. The school grounds were transformed into a maze of booths and performers, as kids from all years celebrated their cultural backgrounds. They'd both put a great deal of work into organizing it, but on the actual day of the event, Alfred and Arthur were free to roam about and enjoy the festival. They walked hand in hand, talking about whatever popped into their heads.

"Alfred, do you like living in America?" Arthur asked. The taller boy shrugged, and then glanced around secretively as if he was being lured into a trap.

"I can come out of the closet and my dad won't care—if I get quoted saying something un-American, well, _that's _a totally different thing."

"I promise I won't sell your comments to the tabloids, Alfred. Don't you think we're a bit beyond that?" Arthur joked.

"Well not _you_ obviously, but you never know who's listening. Your dad saw the pictures of us at that concert, by the way. He called me to make sure you were only drinking coke."

"Good grief," Arthur muttered, though it lacked any real venom.

"Well, considering how you dance, does it really surprise you people think you're a little tipsy?" Alfred asked. Arthur swatted him, though it wasn't very hard, and then went back to holding his hand.

"I am a _great_ dancer. My dancing ability is only surpassed by my cooking skill," Arthur bragged. Alfred just laughed.

"Why would you ask me that, though?" Alfred said, returning to their earlier topic. Blushing a little, Arthur just shrugged. They had stopped in the vague vicinity of a booth about Belarus, and Alfred was glancing at it quizzically. Noting his confused expression, Arthur sighed.

"It's a country, Alfred."

"Seriously? How do you pronounce it? Bel-air-us? Like, if you were royalty _there_, you'd be the Prince of Belair…us?"

"No. And don't you dare start that ridiculous American television show rap song. That is most definitely _not_ how you pronounce it, and let's move a little further away before they hear you. If you want tabloid fodder, _that's_ it."

"Ha! I really don't think my fellow Americans would care about that sort of slip-up. They're probably just as clueless as me. And Will Smith is an awesome rapper—just for the record."

"Likely they _wouldn't_ care. Cluelessness aside…that's not why I was asking. I'm not implying you don't like America, or think like an American…more like I was wondering if you'd _have_ to live there," Arthur said, "you know…to be happy," he added, when Alfred still looked confused.

"Err…why wouldn't I live in America?" Alfred asked. Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, haven't you realized it yet? I live here, in Britain, and _you_ live thousands of miles away in America. Sure, it's not an issue while we're in school together, but what about after?" Arthur asked, blushing slightly. Alfred grinned at him.

"First you talk about our future kid, and now you're figuring out where we're gonna live in four years?" he confirmed. Arthur stared at him challengingly.

"So what if I am?" he replied. Alfred just grinned happily and kissed him on the nose.

"You wouldn't be you if you _didn't_ plan. But I'm not too worried. It'll all work out somehow, I'm sure of it!" Alfred said brightly. Arthur's expression slipped into a frown.

"What about this summer? Have you thought about that?" he asked, drawing to a halt and tugging Alfred around to face him.

"I'll be at camp. My parents send me to a camp every summer. It'll probably be football again this year. I'll write to you lots, though!"

"But we won't see each other for nearly three months," Arthur pouted. Alfred didn't seem upset enough about that fact to reassure him. The taller boy smiled at him and pulled him closer for a hug.

"We can chat online. I know it'll seem like forever, but it'll go by fast! We'll both have super fun summers, and then we'll be together again in Washington. I can show you around. Maybe you can even come early for my birthday party!"

"You're _supposed_ to be sad to be away from me," Arthur pouted. Alfred, however, just grinned at him.

"We've got our whole lives to spend together, Artie! What's the big deal about a few weeks?"

"I guess…when you put it like that. You really don't think I'm crazy for thinking about our future together?"

"You're the sensible, smart one that plans all that stuff out. I'm just arm candy. Now come on! I wanna go see the kung fu demonstration."

His doubts eased, Arthur held onto Alfred's hand more tightly and went about enjoying the festival with him.

USUK

With April came elections, and Alfred and Arthur's two month anniversary. It felt like so much longer. Arthur was bold and ran for Vice President. He won by a very narrow margin, beating out a junior who was so upset by the loss that she quit the club. Yao made secretary, but Basch was beat out by an older student for treasurer. Alfred, being Alfred, had created the position of student council mascot, ran for the position uncontested, and declared himself the winner. He then told everyone that the official duties of the student council mascot were to support, in every possible way, the efforts of the student council Vice President. Upon hearing the duties of the fictitious job, Meghan challenged Alfred post-election to the title and the issue was settled by water balloon duel.

For the most part, Arthur ignored it.

But there was more to contend with in April than just elections. As part of a very special Hero Club Mission, Alfred and Arthur had agreed to make an appearance on a respected talk show. It seemed surreal, to leave behind the school so early that it was dark outside, and drive to the television studio.

Alfred was nervous, Arthur could tell, but like he usually did when a good cause was involved, the American boy powered through his discomfort. His nerves didn't really start to show until they were standing on the edge of the set, with the cameras rolling.

"Don't be so nervous. It's just talking, and I'll be there to smooth over any rough patches," Arthur promised. Alfred nodded, and looked over the notes his parents had e-mailed him for the millionth time.

"I know it's important, but I'm kinda nervous talking to everyone about us, you know?" Alfred said. Truth be told, Arthur was nervous, too. They hadn't made any official statements, though everyone already knew they were together and gossip ran rampant on the subject.

"We're going to be in the media spotlight likely our whole lives. It's unavoidable really. You might not always be the President's son, but I'll always be a royal. I'm sorry that it's a package deal," Arthur said, biting his lip. Alfred quickly looked up from his notes and gave Arthur's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't be sorry for who you are. We may be famous, but it doesn't matter and it never has—not when it's just you and me. We'll do this for a good cause and then go back to pretending like the media doesn't exist, okay?"

"Alright," Arthur said with a smile. "That sounds good to me."

"And here with us today, we have two remarkable young men—His Highness, Prince Arthur Kirkland, and the son of the U.S. President, Alfred Jones. Come on out, boys," the host announced with a large smile. Falling into an old habit when walking side by side, Alfred's hand curled around Arthur's.

A few people in the audience 'aww'd over the gesture, and the way that both of the teens blushed a little and darted nervous glances at each other.

"You boys look nervous!" the host chattered. Alfred stared wide-eyed at the camera and Arthur cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, wiping his sweaty palms against his trousers.

"A little, but we're glad for the chance to talk to you about such an important topic today," Arthur said.

"That's right. Our show's theme today is highlighting the amazing work of young people, and Alfred has started a pretty remarkable club at his school, haven't you, Alfred?"

"Err, yes ma'm." The host smiled encouragingly.

"Why don't you tell us about it?" she encouraged. Alfred blinked like a startled baby deer and his voice cracked nervously when he spoke.

"Oh! Right…um…it's about…helping people—called the Hero Club—and about…err…"

"About improving our school for members of the student body, and naturally, helping our community as best we are able," Arthur finished smoothly.

"And you recently worked with your school's photography club to coordinate a fundraiser that, as of today, has raised more than 300,000 pounds for a charity that supports peacekeeping operations all over the world. That's amazing work, boys…and that's a _lot_ of calendars."

"It was Laura's idea—she's the photography club President," Alfred added. The host smiled, showing too many teeth.

"She's _also_ the photographer of some images that have become rather famous. Let's take a look! Now this is the cover of the magazine, right? And this…this is the photo representing the historical alliance between the U.K. and America," she said, as the rather steamy images flashed behind them. Alfred half-turned to glance at them, and grinned a bit cheekily at the audience's reaction.

"You're so hot in that one," he said to Arthur, perhaps forgetting he had a microphone on. Arthur blushed and the audience laughed. Alfred looked sheepish, and remembered his nervousness instantly.

"And that brings us to your new mission, which is to raise awareness for homosexual teenagers combating homophobia and bullying in high school. Now this is an issue you've had personal experience with, at the start of this year, right?" she asked, slipping easily into a serious persona. Gaining his courage, Alfred spoke up.

"Yeah. It's hard enough starting a new school, but it can get really nasty if people think you're different. One of my best friends was harassed at the start of this year really badly."

"It's how they became friends. Alfred stood up to the bullies for him," Arthur said proudly. Alfred shrugged off the praise, even though the audience was 'aww'-ing over him again.

"And I had a rough time of it on the rugby team at first, too, but what I've learned is that if you hang tough, people will accept you for who you are. You can't let anyone tell you that you don't have worth because you're different…Arthur taught me that, really."

"That's _not_ to say teens should go around picking fights, because it can get really dangerous," Arthur added, "And the best solution is always finding an adult, but being confident in who you are and communicating honestly with people is how we'll reduce homophobia and bullying—because it's just ignorance," Arthur said.

"It is so impressive that you both are so devoted to community service at such a young age, but considering your parents, I guess it shouldn't really surprise anyone. How _do_ your parents feel about your relationship? Were they supportive?" The host asked. Arthur and Alfred shared an awkward laugh.

"It was a little rocky at times—" Arthur began.

"—But they're really supportive overall. It's…err…really affected my dad, especially, and I know he's trying to do more for gay rights back in the states because of it," Alfred said, the pre-rehearsed line coming out blessedly smooth.

"And some of those policies he's suggesting aren't so popular. How does that make you feel, Alfred?" the host asked.

"What? You mean about gay marriage and stuff like that?" Alfred laughed and glanced teasingly at Arthur. "_He's_ the one that's already planning what we're gonna name our kids. So, ya know, if the American people don't let him marry me and have his dream wedding, that's all on _them_. I'm not gonna hold him back," Alfred joked.

Arthur, for his part, blushed dark red as the audience laughed.

"I do _not_ have a dream wedding. I _do_ think marriage is important and…and…I _have_ thought about it…but only because my mum has always said that there's not much point in dating if you aren't looking for the love of your life."

"And is that how you'd describe Alfred?" the host asked. Alfred nudged his shoulder playfully against Arthur's.

"Yeah, Arthur, _is_ that how'd you describe me?"

"Oh shut up, you git. You know I would," Arthur replied, his cheeks bright red.

"Well, I think pretty much everyone will agree that you two make a very cute couple, but let's open up questions to the audience, shall we? They've got some questions about your new cause, and of course, about your relationship, too."

A random woman in the audience stood up and was passed a microphone.

"The video that leaked to the internet a few months back presents a very different image of you than what we're seeing today. How do you feel about that video now?" she asked Arthur. Arthur frowned a bit, and Alfred looped his arm around the other boy's shoulders in a show of support.

"All teenagers make mistakes. I'm not perfect and I've never claimed to be. I fell in with a bad crowd for awhile and I didn't make the best choices. Luckily, Alfred cared enough not to give up on me. It kind of ties in with the cause we're here to talk about, because peer pressure is a huge part of it, and I think teens just aren't very well equipped to handle it. I disappointed my parents, but mostly I disappointed myself. It was embarrassing, and obviously, that's not how I'd like for the world to see me," Arthur commented. Alfred was impressed, and growing more and more nervous that the next tough question would be directed at him.

"You boys obviously have good hearts, and it's clear that you really care for each other, but don't you think you're a little young for the level of commitment you're talking about? You both seem very sure of who you are for only being fifteen. While you've got a good cause, aren't your parents concerned about letting you become the new poster boys for the homosexual community?"

"Err, I think that was several questions," Arthur joked lightly, passing the question off to Alfred with a glance. His boyfriend shifted a bit in his seat and shrugged.

"Maybe people who are older and wiser think it's just a phase, but that's not how _we_ feel about it, and that's not how a lot of teens facing homophobia in their schools every day feel about it. It's our reality. I guess what I'm saying is that I'd like to live in a world where it's okay to be different, and it's okay to love whoever you want to love. As for me, I love Arthur. We might be young, but he's my best friend in the whole world, and he means everything to me," Alfred said, speaking with unshakeable confidence on the topic of his love for Arthur. Watching them, it was very hard to think there was any weight to the suggestion they were just going through a phase.

"And just to follow up, how do you feel about suddenly representing many of your peers and the homosexual community, and your parents' role in that?" the host asked, from her spot amongst the audience members.

"We're just glad we have the opportunity to raise awareness like this, and that we have the support of our parents in starting a program in schools to fund anti-bullying education, to make it safer for other teens out there like us. Our club is going to continue to raise funds for this goal, and we don't mind standing up for other teens who don't have a voice while facing such serious issues," Arthur replied.

"Well it's been a delight to have you boys on the show, and for more information about how you can donate to the Hero Club's anti-bullying campaign, or to purchase the calendar to benefit global peacekeeping, you can go to our website. Thank you both, and it's been an honor to meet you," the host said, firmly shaking their hands before they (gratefully) exited the set.

"Oh thank _god_ that's over," Alfred said, immediately loosening his tie.

"That was brutal…but we did okay, don't you think?" Arthur confirmed. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah! I mean, _I_ think we did good," as he said this, Alfred flipped open his phone, which was filing up with messages from his friends and classmates. "Yeah, Mattie says we did good," he snorted with laughter, "and Ivan says the host had the hots for us."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. Being a young, fairly famous couple certainly wasn't easy, but they were tackling it together.

USUK

Before anyone knew it, April had rolled into May, and the original members of the Hero Club were hunkered down in the library furiously studying for finals. Someone had brought the recently published yearbook, and during their few study breaks, they were flipping through the pages and laughing at the memories of their first year.

"Oh man, look at my start of the year picture! My face looks like a freakin' pizza!" Alfred complained. Laughing, Mattie snatched his book and gave Alfred a fake mustache and beard.

"There ya go. Lots of guys grow facial hair to cover pimples," Mattie said. Francis flipped a few pages ahead, to images taken at the Halloween Ball. He grinned widely at Mattie's bunny costume.

"I think that was when I really fell in love with you, _mon cher_. How could have not? You looked so cute, and you were so worried about impressing me," Francis teased. Mattie blushed lightly and shifted attention to Yao.

"That dance was right after we threw Yao his birthday party. You didn't really hang out with us much before then," Mattie said. "And I think my bunny costume is _slightly_ better than Yao's panda suit. At least me and Francis had a costume theme going," Mattie defended. Yao grabbed the book and smiled at the way Ivan and Alfred were captured mid-wrestle in the forefront of the photo. The sight of Ivan dressed as a gangster should have bothered him, but the brief memories it summoned were short and not too painful. He'd really healed a lot since Christmas break, and it was largely thanks to Ivan's consistency.

"We started flirting that night," Yao said, passing the book to Ivan. "Remember? Up in the bell tower."

"That was _so_ scary. We never figured out what happened up there," Alfred trailed off, his face pale. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"We all got really drunk, some of us for the first time, and got scared of our own shadows. We don't need Sherlock Holmes for _that_ one," Arthur said.

"Ah, look—school club pictures. There we are. That was back when we still held the meetings in the basketball gym so Alfred and I could work out when nobody showed up to his stupid club meetings," Ivan reminisced with a dark chuckle. While a photo of the expanded club was included as well, Alfred had a nostalgic fondness for the photo of the original members, and he'd wanted it included on their club page.

"Oh, look, there's hazing week—do you still have that tutu, Alfred?" Mattie joked. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Oh hardy har har har. _Very_ funny."

"But yes, he does, and he wears it whenever he gets in the mood to dance around singing awful American pop music at the top of his lungs," Arthur added with a mischievous grin. Mattie smiled back and flipped the page, pointing out himself with his book club in the library, and then chuckling at the photo of Arthur sitting with a group of girls doing needlepoint.

"And there's the Christmas dance pictures…let's skip those, please," Francis said drolly, trying in vain to snatch the book. Matthew, however, frowned and held it away from his grasp, his soft eyes searching the pictures.

"There's me…waiting by myself at the punch bowl with Gilbert. Your drunk ass hadn't shown up yet," Matthew said pointedly, directing a glare Francis's way.

"Jerk," Alfred added, throwing his own scowl at Francis.

"_You_ kissed my boyfriend!" Francis protested. Alfred scowled.

"Yeah? Well you dated mine! So there!"

"He wasn't your boyfriend then, retard. You were still flailing around in your closet dealing with your mommy issues…you were not yet the smooth talking poster boy for gay teens around the world," Francis said mockingly. Alfred just stuck out his tongue.

"Moving on, please. I don't think any of us want to linger over Christmas memories," Arthur surmised quite accurately.

"Hey! Here are the photos from the school trip around London. That's a really good one of Emily," Alfred commented.

"Aww, they didn't include that one of you pulling off Arthur's trousers in front of his grandmother," Francis said with mock regret. Once again, Alfred retaliated by sticking out his tongue.

"Yeah, well, let's skip to gym photos so we can see Francis's photo mixed in with the girls' photos," Alfred teased. Predictably, Arthur snorted with laughter. Francis hadn't really done much over the course of the year to embarrass himself—ever graceful and smooth—but the gender confusion on the part of their gym teacher was an inside joke that never failed to amuse.

"This page has everyone's quotes about their vacations. I heard they had one in here about Ivan killing someone but they edited it out," Alfred remarked with a remarkable lack of sensitivity. Ivan whacked his friend upside the back of his head hard enough to make him yelp in pain.

"Oh yeah? Well I heard someone mentioned the dick reduction surgery _you_ had over break, and they edited _that_ out. Is it still burning when you piss?"

"It only burns when I think of you," Alfred replied…only to pause and wince. "That didn't come out right."

"That's what _he_ said," Yao chirruped, before happily turning another page.

"Ugh, that photo of me is terrible. Hey! Who added that bit of writing? That was _not_ my official campaign slogan," Arthur insisted. Underneath his campaign image, someone had added in shiny marker, _Vote Kirkland for VP…or his eyebrows will eat you ALIVE!_

Mattie winced and sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry. Gilbert was messing around with my book earlier."

"Arse," Arthur muttered under his breath. "Oh…that's a good one of you, Alfred," Arthur said.

"Yeah, 'cept everyone knows I _missed_ that pass," Alfred retorted glumly, referring to the photo of himself stretching gracefully to catch the ball in his rugby gear, looking like the star player with the ball only inches from his fingertips.

"Well, your grandkids don't have to know that," Mattie replied with a smile.

"My grandkids _also_ don't need to know that Susan Meyers wants to…lick my nipples? What kind of a farewell message is that? Who _does_ that? I don't even know her. For all she knows, my parents might look at this book," Alfred grumbled as he flipped to the back of his own book and quoted one of the random comments left by girls he didn't even know. He'd given his book to a rugby mate and it had come back defaced with numbers of nearly every single girl in the school, and the numbers of some who were not single at all.

Sure enough, the mega-popular shot of Alfred shirtless in his jeans was included in the Valentine's Day section, and it made a sharp contrast to the photo of the awkward, gangly, pimple faced teen who appeared in the school photos at the beginning of the book.

"Kinda hard to believe you fell for me when I still looked like this guy," Alfred said, flipping between the two photos and directing his comment towards Arthur. The British royal just glanced up at him from his text book and smiled.

"Honestly, you've always looked handsome to me. I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss about it now," he said.

"Oh come on—I know you're blinded by love, but you have to admit that Alfred hit a major growth spurt and looks _totally_ different. I wouldn't even guess these two guys were the same person," Matthew said.

"Well, that one _is_ heavily edited."

"Not _that_ heavily edited. You turned into a hunk. Just admit it," Mattie said. Francis scowled, and Matthew hastily added, "Of course, all those muscles don't really do it for me. Now give me a guy who knows how to wear plaid…now _that's_ sexy."

Francis rolled his eyes, but was satisfied with the amendment.

"So what's everyone doing this summer?" Alfred asked, closing his own yearbook with an air of finality, clearly ready to move on to bigger and better things.

"I'm going back home—nothing really special planned," Mattie said. "I'll probably get a summer job."

"And I'll probably get bored after a week with my mother and fly to Canada, to rescue you from the tedium of your quaint summer job," Francis said with a roguish grin.

"And then it's off to Washington for next year," Mattie finished with a smile. Francis sighed at the thought of spending a whole year in America.

"Lovely," he quipped sarcastically.

"Yao is coming to stay with me in Russia. Hopefully this visit will be less exciting, da?" Ivan said mildly. Yao seemed nervous about the idea of leaving the sanctuary of World Academy in London, and nobody really blamed him. In dating Ivan, he had made some powerful enemies, and unlike his boyfriend, wasn't well equipped to handle them.

Still, he made the effort to smile shakily.

"I have learned a lot of Russian. I think it will be a very interesting trip. I am excited to meet Ivan's sisters…he tells me I'm a lot like them," Yao said. Ivan shook his head in mock horror.

"Three three of them, all in one room—if I start drinking now, I_ might_ be drunk enough by the time we get there," Ivan joked. Yao glared and gave Ivan a weak swat to his burly shoulder.

"What about you, Arthur?" he asked. The royal shrugged.

"Not much really. My brother Patrick is going to take me to some concerts, but nothing set in stone," Arthur said.

"And you, Alfred?" Yao asked.

"Football camp. It's official as of this morning. It's a super elite camp—I'll be training with former NFL players! It's gonna be awesome. Oh, and I'm getting these stupid braces off, hopefully in time for my birthday…which, by the way, all you totally have to attend. It's gonna be a _huge_ party—Fourth of July! I'm inviting, like, the whole school."

"That will be interesting, I'm sure. I_ might_ come," Francis said.

"We will still be in Russia," Ivan said. Alfred looked momentarily sad, but recovered quickly when Arthur assured him that he would, of course, fly in for the occasion.

"So…I guess this is it, then. We take our finals tomorrow and then we all go separate ways. Next time we see each other, we'll be sophomores. Man, it went by fast, eh?" Matthew mused.

"It's been a crazy year. Heh, if next year is half as crazy, I might not make it till graduation, guys," Alfred joked.

"If you don't pass your finals, you _really_ won't make it to graduation. Study break is over," Arthur said crisply, dragging them all back into focus with his sharp tone. With a groan, Alfred returned to pouring over every little detail of his history notes.

USUK

"This is it…our last night in this dorm room. I'm gonna miss this bed," Alfred said, his voice filled with surprising emotion. Arthur gave him a pointed look as he emerged from the bathroom in his robe.

"Oh _now_ you're going to get all sappy? Is it just sinking in that you'll be getting on a plane tomorrow morning and all of this will be over?" Arthur asked.

"It _won't_ be over, Artie—don't day that!" Alfred protested, clutching Pinky tightly. Arthur sighed and settled on the bed beside his boyfriend.

"That was a poor choice of words. It won't be over…it will just be different," he said.

"And change is good, right?" Alfred said with forced cheer. Arthur leaned against his side, feeling some tears slide down his cheeks.

"Of course it will be…but I'll miss this…I'll miss walking through the hall every day and seeing the spot where you told everyone, on the very first day of school, that you were going to make me love you."

"Heh…yeah…and I'll miss all the times we spent lying here and just talking for hours…this is where we…for the very first time."

"We're both ridiculously rich, right? Maybe they'll sell us the bed," Arthur joked. Alfred wiped at his own runny eyes and gave a playful bounce just to make the frame squeak.

"Nah…it's gonna fall apart soon. We sure as heck didn't go easy on it."

"Easier, I'd imagine, than Francis and Matthew went on theirs," Arthur said with a snort.

"Don't you mean Francis, Matthew, _and_ Gilbert?"

"We were having a touching moment. Can we go back to that?" Arthur teased. With a laugh, Alfred wrapped his arm around Arthur's shoulders and simply stared at the room where it had all started between them.

Soon it would be a new year, a new room, and new challenges for the two of them.

"You better write me e-mails all the time," Arthur said, his voice sounding thick.

"I will. I _promise_ I will. And I'll miss you like crazy," Alfred said, as he tenderly pressed a kiss against Arthur's choppy locks.

"So what do you say to one more time in this bed, for old time's sake?" Arthur said, crying openly now. Alfred brushed away his tears with the pads of his thumbs and kissed Arthur soundly.

"Not for old time's sake…to tide us over 'till we see each other again. I'll probably have to sleep on the flight tomorrow, because I think I'm going to need a _lot_ of tiding over."

"Say the words and we can tide each other over all summer. I could go to football camp," Arthur said, knowing even as the words passed his lips that he most certainly did _not_ want to go to football camp.

"Liar," Alfred accused, with a fond smile. Instead of responding, Arthur stripped out of his shirt and crawled into his boyfriend's lap, soaking up his kisses and his touches like a sponge, knowing it was going to be a long, long summer without him.

**A/N: **Wow. Is anyone as surprised as me that I finished this thing in roughly three months, that it got over 1000 reviews, and that I still love this fic as much as I did the day I started writing it? Lol, everyone should be _very_ surprised. But wow. Of course, I have to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed, and stuck with me throughout this entire thing. I've still got a ton of new fics planned, and while I'm excited to write them, I'm really glad that the boys still have three more years to go if I ever get too nostalgic and have to return to this story. If I do, I'll just add onto this one, that way all my faithful reviewers will know via alert that I'm back. It might not be anytime soon, though. I think I need a break from writing for awhile, lol!

I will also be going back through in the near future (certainly before continuing the story) and updating chapters and fixing errors, though I'm going to try not to change anything major content wise.

Once again, thanks for sticking with me! I hope you all were happy with the ending!


	40. About the Sequel

Dear Readers,

Sorry for any confusion I may have caused, but someone alerted me to the fact that I said I'd update on this story when I continued _Invitational Year_. I have continued the story, but it is in a separate story entitled _The Sophomore Year_, also posted on this site.

I figured everyone would see it, but I'm still getting some people that message me to say that they didn't realize I'd updated, so I just wanted to post a quick note. The sequel is up, it's got about 50,000 words so far, and all the gang is there! I hope you check it out and enjoy it, if you liked this universe and still want to stick around for another 200,000 plus words or so. ;)

Sincerely,

Demand Truth


	41. About the New Version

Hi guys,

I know author notes are frowned upon, but I figured some of you would really want to know about the following news if you enjoyed this story.

Because I'm bat-shit crazy, I'm going to re-write this series. Writing my first "novel-like" fanfics has taught me SO much about the weaknesses in my writing and where I need to improve. I got some amazing feedback and constructive criticism that I really took to heart, and I thank you for taking the time to give it. It was spot on, and I needed to hear it. (It wasn't always easy, lol, but I needed to hear it!)

Here are the big issues I had with both of these stories.

1. Age-appropriate realism. The relationships developed too quickly, and it got intimate too fast.

2. At first I didn't know what I was doing with Russia and China, and by the time I fell in love with them as a couple, their story had become disjointed from the other plots going on. The relationships of the allies will be more equally balanced and intertwined in the revised version, since I know who these characters are supposed to be now, and who I want them to become.

3. Awkward timing. At certain points, the story drags too long and then I rushed through months trying to compensate. Each fic will be _very_ long, but it will be a much smoother ride.

3. Payoff, to borrow RussianRose's term for it. She gave me some great feedback about where my characters were failing to develop. Again, I think have the freedom of all four years will give me more time to let this happen naturally without forcing anything.

4. Typos – anything you pointed out to me in reviews, I'll fix as I upload. Keep in mind, most of this is now new content, though, so there will be all NEW typos to spot! Woohoo!

So, if you'd like to join me chapter by chapter to see it all unfold again, visit my website at www . demand-truth . com. The first three chapters are already posted of the new _Invitational Year_. 1 and 2 are essentially the same, while 3 was completely rewritten. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on old vs. new, so please feel free to leave me feedback on the Review Me page of the site.

When the whole revised first year is finished, I will post it in its entirety on this site by the name _The Invitational Year Version 2.0_. I do this not because I expect you to review it all over again, but simply because I know some of you don't like reading stuff on other sites. (I'm kind of like that, too.)

Once again, thank you so much for helping make the first go round an amazing experience. I hope to grow and learn just as much during round two, and I hope you'll be a part of it again!

~ D.T.


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